


0% APR

by Havokftw



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall, Camping, Coupzi, Crack, Eventual Smut, Fear of bears, Fluff and Crack, Ghost Stories, Humor, In a manner of speaking, Jicheol, Jicheol are defacto parents, Jihoon gets kidnapped again, Jihoon has irrational hatred of many things, Jihoon has no shame, Jihoon is a hostage, Jihoon lets him have it, M/M, Mingyu is not a good cook, Mutual Pining, OR IS IT, Performance team are Park Rangers, Pie talk, Porn With Plot, Seungcheol can't erect a tent, Seungcheol is a hot criminal, Seungcheol wants Jihoon's pie, Sexual Tension, Shameless Seungcheol Appreciation, Thieves on the run, hip hop team make terrible thieves, jihoon pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-10-12 09:28:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 75,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10487613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havokftw/pseuds/Havokftw
Summary: Jihoon is a bank manager. Then his bank is burgled by fumbling idiots.Do you see where I am going with this?





	1. Compound Interest

Jihoon needs a new job. Going by the last few months, he’s pretty sure the world is out to get him. Pretty much all the time.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Seungkwan, ever the optimist in times when no one appreciates an optimist, gives him a willing smile.

“It could be worse.” He waves a sweeping hand towards the masked trio swinging guns around the room. Somewhere, someone whimpers in hysteria every time one of the gunmen raises his voice. Which seems to be every ten seconds or so.

Jihoon scowls back. “How could this possibly be worse?!” He hisses, dropping his voice lower when one of the men snaps his head in their direction. “We’re being held at gunpoint!”

Seungkwan looks like he’s actually thinking about that and weighing out possibly worse scenarios.

“Yeah—but, in all your years of being the manager here—you’ve never once faced a robbery. You can tick it off your list!” he offers.

“What list? I don’t _have_ a list where this scenario is a celebratory occasion.” Jihoon hisses, making his own, ill-tempered, hand wave at the masked gunmen.

The three men can’t seem to decide what to steal first and have spent the last five minutes shouting contradictory instructions to the poor bank teller behind the register.

“I’m sure you got training for just such an occasion.”

“You’re right—I did.” Jihoon says.

The protocols are simple and straightforward, and he’d like to think he has a very good grasp of concepts like unnecessary risks and collateral damage.

“And what did your training teach you?” Seungkwan prompts.

“Comply. Don’t resist. Hire good security. Don’t get shot.” Jihoon confides to the man in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Good—so, three out of four isn’t bad so far.” Seungkwan says, still being annoyingly optimistic.

It began as an ordinary day. Dull and monotonous.

Oh, how Jihoon wished for that monotony now.

He’d been stuck in his office most of the morning, but was conveniently called to the front desk to deal with an irate customer who locked their banking account by entering the wrong pin too many times.

He was on his way back to his office when three masked men barged through the doors, knocking the security guard out, cold.

There was:

1) **Mr Tall: ** This one’s tall, if not very broad, and probably fancies himself the man in charge. He was the first to fumble through the door with his gun and even held it the wrong way to begin with. Very promising.

2) **Mr America:** Who barged in yelling “Everybody get down on the ground!” In perfect English with a distinct American accent. Idiot. He’s obviously fresh off the boat.

3) **Mr Four Eyes:** Who is surprisingly reserved for a bank robber, and is actually wearing glasses over his ski mask. He tries his hand at being menacing—it doesn’t work because he obviously isn’t one of those types of criminals. He also holds his gun like one would hold a very dirty, very smelly diaper.

The whole debacle is all very pedestrian, and Jihoon really can’t be bothered to pay attention once it’s clear that his bank is being burgled by rank amateurs.

The meatheads aren’t stealing so much as arguing and fondling their weapons, so it’s easy for Jihoon to linger behind a desk out of sight. But then—

That’s when Captain Thick bursts through the back door.

4) **Captain Thick:** Can he be summarised in a bullet point? Jihoon doesn’t think so.

Jihoon’s appreciative gaze absorbs Captain Thick in all his glory.

He’s looking very refined in black trousers, a dark waistcoat with a crisp white shirt underneath. Black silk tie perfectly knotted at his throat. Like the others, he’s wearing a ski mask that obscures his face—but Jihoon can appreciate the solid body, broad shoulders and generously proportioned thighs that suit showcases.

Captain Thick indeed.

He’s armed with a rifle held loosely in front of him and trained low. He’s clearly in charge of the entire outfit; exudes an aura of competency as well as unmasked irritation at his frankly useless accomplices.

Jihoon allows himself two minutes of mental downtime to enjoy the view, before the man starts hurling insults at his crew. He’s a veteran thief no doubt, the way he moves fluidly, shoulders the rifle with a practiced grip and orders the others about so effectively.

Jihoon has no idea why he’s working with a bunch of newbie thieves; he’s almost insulted on his behalf.

“Which one of you is the manger.” Captain Thick thighs asks, rounding up on their hiding spot.

Jihoon wants to do something really bold and possibly suicidal, and slowly point at his name badge that clearly says **‘LEE JIHOON—BANK MANAGER’** on it. But these guys are holding guns and wearing masks and although they haven’t hurt any of the hostages yet, who says they won’t take offence to his poorly timed brand of sarcasm.

He doesn’t have to say a word, apparently, because Seungkwan is more than happy to start pointing fingers.

“He is. This guy right here.” Seungkwan announces, his hands up in the air, projecting waves of submission.

Jihoon shakes his head, resigning himself to a very long day.

“What’s your name?” Captain Thick asks.

Jihoon really wants to point at his name badge this time, but Seungkwan opens his mouth again.

“Lee Jihoon is his name—managing banks is his game. He knows where all the money is and how you can steal it. He’s the one you need to talk to, to rough up. I am but a lowly employee.” Seungkwan babbles, panic already creeping at the edges of his voice.

Jihoon clenches his jaw against a mouthful of expletives “Can you shut up?” He hisses.

Seungkwan at least has the dignity to look guilty. “You know I can’t help talking when I’m nervous!”

“Okay—Lee Jihoon. Get up.” Captain Thick makes a tiny but very pointed gesture with the barrel of his gun, which reminds Jihoon he’s in no place to protest

Jihoon heaves a hefty sigh that appropriately conveys his displeasure with this whole adventure and springs to his feet.

“Listen—I don’t want any trouble! Please don’t hurt me!” He pleads, sounding more shrill than he’d like.

“Great! Cause I don’t _want_ to hurt you—but I will, **if** I have to. If I don’t get the combination to the vault for instance.” Captain Thick threatens as he guides Jihoon towards the back of the bank towards the main vault.

Jihoon’s hands are trembling as he raises them to the lock mechanism; he takes deep, even breaths in an attempt to calm himself. It works—for all of five seconds before somebody starts shouting in his ear.

“Get a move on! Faster—you need to work faster!” Mr Tall shouts, butting Jihoon in the side with his gun.

“Oh, I’m _sorry”_ Jihoon drawls, drawing the word out so it has seventeen syllables. Fear brings out his defensiveness side, sarcasm follows soon after. “You want me to work faster? I assumed you wanted me to take my sweet time. Please continue stabbing me with your gun— **that really helps me concentrate**.” Jihoon snaps, because he’s getting a little cranky from this whole ordeal.

Mr Tall steps forward, gun raised in attack when Captain Thick slams the heal of his palm against his chest, knocking him back a few steps.

“Hey! Go cover the door. I got this.” He orders, moving to stand next to Jihoon at the vault lock mechanism. He’s pushed his ski masks up to uncover his mouth, and when Jihoon glances sidelong, the man gives him a smile that borders on a leer.

“Everything okay here?” He asks, then licks his lips— Jihoon can’t help but watch the deliberate, slick movement of tongue over that plush mouth.

Jihoon’s already sketchy grasp of anger management goes right out the window, along with things like patience, self-preservation, and social filters.

“Uhh— **no.** No offence, but you need to hire more competent accomplices for a gig like this. Your current crew—very unprofessional not to mention inept. I can’t understand how they’ve managed not to shoot themselves in the foot yet. They couldn’t organise a piss up in a brewery.” Jihoon spits.

Captain Thick clearly doesn’t appreciate the professional weight of Jihoon’s opinion because his grip tightens fractionally on the gun, but instead of launching into a killing spree he leans in close and rests a warm hand on Jihoon’s nape. He smells nice. _DAMMIT_. “We’re thieves. What are you expecting? A curtesy call in advance? A written letter apologising for inconveniencing your day?”

Jihoon searches for the least-pathetic thing to say it, but his mind is too wrung out for fluency. “Yeah—It would have been nice!”

Captain Thick watches him with interest. That beautiful mouth quirks up at the corner. “You need to stay calm Jihoon. I know you’re scared.” he says, moving to brush a gun-calloused palm over Jihoon’s hand, steadying it on the dial. “Everyone here is depending on you to open this safe. Their lives are in your hands.”

Jihoon rakes a scornful glare over the bank safe mechanism. “Great—I feel so calm now, thank you for that WAVE OF RESPONSIBILITY.”

Captain Thick sighs as if Jihoon were some troublesome thing, “Okay, I’m sorry. Calm down. Just relax—take your time, but don’t take the piss. We’re kinda on a schedule here.”

“Fine, okay. Step back a little then—give me some space.” Jihoon hisses, then adds “Please.” Because he may be in a hostage situation, but he still has manners.

Captain Thick lets go of his hand, but doesn’t move back, staying so far across the line of Jihoon’s personal space that he can feel the heat build between their bodies.

Temper, embarrassment, and arousal are crossing wires in his brain. He’s practically vibrating with the stress of it all and wonders if the other man can see it.

He obviously doesn’t—or maybe he does and is getting a kick out of riling Jihoon up. He begins by plastering himself against Jihoon’s side as he works the first dial lock. Breathes down his neck as he accesses the keypad on the second lock. Even whispers in Jihoon’s ear that he’s doing a _‘great job’_ and to _‘keep going’_ and even to _‘take it slow’_ and Jihoon can’t help but flush and preen a little.

And on those rare times that Jihoon manages to escape touching range, he struggles to work under the burning weight of Captain Thick’s stare.

He can’t see the guys face under that Ski mask, but his eyes are dark, broody and captivating. And the mouth… that mouth is _obscene._

Flirting is perhaps too strong a word but is still fairly accurate. Jihoon would almost like to think the proximity is deliberate, cause it’s completely unnecessary.

He would happily flirt back—but does he want to be _that_ guy? Flirting with a man who is holding a gun to your person is some seriously low hanging fruit—even by Jihoon’s standards. And he once dated a guy who picked his nose during their first date and wiped it on a napkin.

Jihoon nearly sprains his brain, keeping every stray thought and urge strangled by the focus and discipline that has become his trademark.

It honestly disturbs him that he’s capable of this level of arousal while looking at a bare glimpse of features underneath a mask and a well-tailored suit.

The vault he’s trying to open is an older model; there isn’t the slightest whiff of alert code security. Elementary-level stuff, which is good because Jihoon can’t concentrate worth a damn.

The safe door beeps to indicate the managers code has been accepted and Jihoon reaches into his pocket to fish out the key for the tertiary lock. Then, suddenly, Captain Thick is right there, lips a millimeter from Jihoon’s ear, and Jihoon freezes. “Uh-uh. Hands where I can see them Jihoonie.”

“There is one final tertiary lock on the door—I carry the key in my pocket.” He explains. He’s still a little stunned at the nickname when he feels a huge hand running rough over his pockets — first his jacket, then his trousers, grazing close to his dick and, embarrassingly, making him gasp.

What good is his supposedly infamous discipline if he can’t get control over some _possibly_ hot guy patting him down?

“Got it.” Captain Thick says, pulling out the key and handing it to him, stepping back to give the door room to swing open.

Captain Thick whistles, eyeing the piles of cash with an appreciation that makes Jihoon feel absurdly proud.

One minute, Jihoon’s standing at the entrance to the vault, the next he’s being pushed inside as half the group descends to clean it out.

He tries to stay out of their way as they work. Watching as they drop large, black duffle bags on the vault floor and empty the neat stacks of money inside and at an efficient pace.

He’s paying attention and focused until somewhere along the way he’s… just… not. Instead, he’s examining the way Captain Thick’s ass strains the fabric of his trousers every time he bends down, threatening the seam work and leaving little to the imagination.

Seungkwan always says he has little to no imagination, but he does. He really does. Enough to visualize the contours of those broad, broad shoulders without the interference of clothing. Enough imagination to create several scenarios where he could be holding on to those shoulders.

Maybe right here in this vault?

Maybe Captain Thick would have a change of heart, throw him down on the big piles of cash, fuck him senseless on a bed made of money?

How awesome would that be! Perhaps they’d get so into it—fucking like bunnies, that their passionate love making would eclipse the wail of the police sirens.

Maybe they wouldn’t stop until they were forcefully extracted by the bewildered swat team. Jihoon can see it so clearly. Heaving, panting, sweating bodies, rolling around on piles of cash--

Mr Tall tips out a safe deposit box with a noisy clatter; the sound forcibly reminds Jihoon that he’s in the middle of a bank robbery and not, in fact, getting buggered up the ass by a potentially hot guy in a ski mask.

For the span two heartbeats, he’s disoriented. He has the image laid out so perfectly in his mind, that he’s startled to realize that Captain Thick is not, in fact, naked. Is very much clothed and watching him with what can only be described as suspicion.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” Jihoon realizes he yelled it when Captain Thick stares at him with wide eyes.

He is so tightly wound and perpetually aroused that he’s edgy and furious for no apparent reason.

Captain Thick looks over his shoulder at Mr Tall before edging a little closer. “Are you feeling okay, you’re not going to pass out or anything are you?” He asks in a low voice.

Jihoon tries to swallow, but his throat is desert dry.

“I’m fine. Sorry. I’m just…” He shifts his stance minutely, trying to adjust a painful erection without using his hands.

Thankfully, Captain Thick’s attention is well-above the belt line, peering into Jihoon’s eyes like he’s measuring his pupils or some shit. “Feeling a little dehydrated is all.”

Captain Thick doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he doesn’t push. Why would he? He’s a thief, robbing a fucking bank, not a fucking doctor.

Soon, they fill their black duffle bags and then Captain Thick is giving orders through a two way radio. “Moving out—back exit— _now.”_

Jihoon thinks his job is done. Surely they’re just going to leave him in the vault now and hightail it out of here. And, fuck him, Jihoon realizes he rather is disappointed for reasons he cares not at all to examine.

But then Mr Tall is shoving a duffel in his direction and telling him to carry it. “You too short stack.” He taunts, reaching over to push Jihoon towards the exit.

Jihoon bats the hand away and fixes a sneer on his lips before reaching down to lift the bag.

From there it’s something of a blur, because Jihoon’s never been in a situation quite like this.

Maybe his reactions aren’t the most appropriate, but the adrenaline is cruising fast in his veins and all he knows is he needs to keep his head down and his mouth shut to come out of this alive.

When they slam out the fire door that opens into the parking garage, there is a large black van waiting for them. They open up the back and begin loading the vehicle, quickly.

“Seungcheol, the cops just pulled up at the front—we gotta go.” Mr Tall says, running out the exit towards the van.

Captain Thick’s head snaps to the side and his eyes burn an angry red before he grabs Mr Tall by the front of his jacket.

“Did you just say my name in front of this hostage?” Jihoon can hear the rage loaded into those few words.

“Uhhh.” Mr Tall falters.

“Fucking brilliant.” Seungcheol grimaces, and waves the gun he’s had trained on Jihoon a little wildly. “While you’re at it, why don’t you just give him my address and me dental fucking records you moron!”

Mr Four Eyes storms up into Mr Tall’s face, pointing a shaking finger at him. “Dammit Mingyu! We practiced those codenames last night you dick!”

Mr Tall (aka Mingyu) flails his arms about. “He just said my name boss. Now this guy knows my name too!” he yells.

Jihoon turns to see Seungcheol appraising him closely; something about the scrutiny makes the heat rise in Jihoon’s face. The look in his eyes is unreadable. But, Jihoon finds himself backing away toward the exit slowly, cautiously putting distance between them.

“I—I didn’t hear anything. I have a truly awful short term memory, so I’m not going to remember any of this. Just gonna—walk away now.”

“Hold it.” Seungcheol says, cocking his gun. For a crazy half-second Jihoon thinks he’s about to get shot. It quickly becomes apparent, however, that Seungcheol has different plans entirely.

“Get in the van.”


	2. Accrued Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repeat after me  
> This is going to be a short story.

“Get in the van.”

“Oh, no. That’s okay, I can get a lift home with my friend Seungkwan. But thanks for the offer.” Jihoon dismisses, still trying to create safe distance between himself and the masked gunmen—distance which Seungcheol is intent on closing as he prowls forward, brandishing his rifle with convincing menace.

“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be Jihoon.” Seungcheol says, sly, even a bit of threat in his tone.

Jihoon pulls his shoulders back tight. “Look, I’m not going to rat on you okay. I’m not a tattle tale. I can keep a secret.” he tries to assert, but Seungcheol just crowds in close until he can stare Jihoon in the eyes from mere inches away.

Jihoon doesn’t back down. He matches Seungcheol gaze for gaze, fear bleeding into impatience.

“I know lots of people with that name. You could be anybody.” Jihoon states.

There's a curiously tilted head, as if Jihoon’s going to have to do better than that. “I mean—it’s a popular name— _Seungcheol.”_ Jihoon says, trying the name out on his tongue. “I don’t know what you look like, so even if they did ask me to identify you in a line-up or something—I wouldn’t be able to.”

Jihoon doesn’t think that’s necessarily true though—considering how long he’s spent studying the man’s ass, thighs and lips he could easily distinguish him in a crowd of men.

He can imagine it now. _‘That’s him officer—that’s the man who lead the robbery on the bank—the one with the ass that won’t quit. I’d recognise that ass and thighs combo anywhere. Cuff him boys!’_

Seungcheol eyes him with clear scepticism and Jihoon fills in the silence with more nervous babbling. “Once, my friend Seungkwan had something dodgy for lunch and crapped himself in the toilets. He confided in me and I went out and bought him a new pair of trousers so that nobody else in work would find out his shameful secret. I never told a soul!”

“But—you’re telling me all about it now. So—you mustn’t be very good at keeping secrets after all.” Seungcheol remarks with a very unsettling grin.

_FUCK!_

“Yes—but—that’s different. I was giving you and example I—you--,” Jihoon trails off, shoulders curling forward. He blows out a frustrated breath. “Please just let me-“

He doesn’t get to finish the request as Seungcheol shoves him in the back of the van and climbs in behind him, he’s so surprised he barely gets his wits together to protest before they’re peeling out of the garage and weaving their way through the maze of city streets with the wail of sirens fading behind them.

* * *

Jihoon doesn’t put up much in the way of a struggle, just squirms a little, settling in a seat next to Mr America, across from Mingyu and Seungcheol.

He can more than hold his own in a fight, but Seungcheol outweighs him by at least thirty pounds, and he knows fighting now won’t change the outcome.

“I’m Vernon, you’ve already been introduced to Mingyu and Seungcheol. And that moody guy driving is Wonowoo.” Mr America leads the introductions as the van enters a tunnel.

Jihoon files that information away for the police report he’ll surely have to fill out when all this is over, provided he lives that long.

The other two robbers throw their arms out, eyes bulging from behind their ski masks. “Can you **_PLEASE-STOP_** introducing yourself to the hostage.” Seungcheol snaps at Vernon, eyes simmering with impatience.

“Geez boss. I’m just being polite.” Vernon says, lifting a reproving hand, “He already knows half the team. It would be rude to just dispense with the pleasantries at this stage, we want to make him more comfortable don’t we?”

Inexplicably, Seungcheol’s shoulders lose some of their angry rigidity. “Hmm.” He agrees, though there’s disgruntlement there.

“So—what’s your name?” Vernon asks, nudging him in the arm gently.

Jihoon doesn’t give a shit anymore and promptly points to his badge.

Vernon squints at said badge, “Bank Manager?” He reads out loud.

Jihoon wonders how hard he'll have to slam his head on the ground to induce brain damage. “It’s Lee Jihoon—you _moron_!” He snaps.

He slumps back in his seat, adjusts his cufflinks to have something to do with his hands and pretends not to eavesdrop on the quiet conversation taking place between Mingyu and Seungcheol.

He can just about make out their voices over the hum of the van.

“Boss—what are we planning on doing with the hostage? Are we going to—ya know?”

“We’re not going to kill him if that’s what you’re not so subtly asking. We just need to keep him with us until we tie up the loose ends and get as far away from the city as possible. Then we drop him off somewhere—I’m not a killer Mingyu. We’re not killers.” Seungcheol affirms.

Jihoon breathes a sigh of relief, not that he suspected these men had it in them to murder him. Besides, he’s got to admit Seungcheol has a point. The crooks got the money and, apparently, got away. Adding a murder charge at this point would be a bad move.

Mingyu seems satisfied with the answer, but that doesn’t stop him from asking Seungcheol an endless stream of redundant questions about their plans and splitting up the money.

Jihoon watches Seungcheol grit his teeth in fake smiles and imagines those teeth gripping the back of his shoulder.

“Do we have to keep these masks on? It’s getting harder to breathe.” Vernon whines.

Seungcheol purses his lips, considers the implications for a moment before sighing heavily. “I guess you can take them off. We’re going to have to take them off when we get to our destination anyway.”

One by one they pull their masks off and Jihoon begins to put the names to faces.

They’re a lot younger than he was expecting, probably close to his own age.

Vernon seems to be the youngest, and the happiest. Wonwoo’s reflection in the rear-view mirror seems to be as serious as his demeanour earlier. Mingyu looks like he could either model on a runway or fill in for a puppy in a dog food commercial.

Seungcheol—hasn’t taken his mask of yet and Jihoon is panting heavily in anticipation. The last thing he needs is for this guy to be drop dead gorgeous and tick more of Jihoon’s boxes.

_‘Please be ugly, please be ugly, please be—FUCCCCKKKKKKK’_

When Seungcheol tugs the mask completely off his head, his eyes, crackling like a sea storm, meet Jihoon’s own. They're dark, smouldering sex-eyes, even when he's not trying. He smoothes a hand over his perfectly-gelled hair and then, astonishingly, slants Jihoon the smallest, most knowing smile Jihoon has ever seen in his life.

He’s handsome, Jihoon realizes, with his perfect smile and plush lips and broad, broad shoulders. He’s some strange combination of beautiful and utterly masculine and Jihoon wants to leave marks along the clean, straight line of his jaw.

And—oh, Christ, Jihoon doesn’t generally fuck people who kidnap him, but he already knows he’s going to make an exception for Seungcheol. He wants to devour and be devoured by him and he's sure it shows in his own eyes, sure it comes through in his voice.

“You guys are new at this.” Jihoon says, changing the subject before he accidentally starts reciting poetry about Seungcheol and perhaps the day he descended from heaven to walk amongst the ugly people.

“Well—“ Vernon begins, glancing sideways to seeks Seungcheol’s approval like an eager protégé.

Jihoon shakes his head. “Not Seungcheol _obviously._ But the three of you,” He gestures vaguely to the others, “--you’ve never robbed a bank before. Hell, I imagine you’ve probably never done anything illegal in your life.” He says, hoping his light tone can float the heavy subject matter.

The silence that question garners is answer enough.

“How did we do?” Mingyu asks suddenly.

Jihoon blinks at the question. “What do you mean?”

“How was the robbery? What did you think of our performance?”

“Are you asking me to rate your robbery?” Jihoon asks disbelievingly. He gapes at the broad smile that breaks out across Mingyu’s face.

“Yeah, like—what out of 10?”

“Weird—but—since you’re asking, and holding guns. I would rate you,” He takes a second to think about how to measure up Mingyu’s efforts before deciding on…“Zero.”

“What!” Mingyu gasps, genuinely affronted by Jihoon’s assessment of his skills.

“You shouted a lot but you didn’t have any sense of direction. You held your gun all wrong and—you haven’t flipped the safety off either.” Jihoon says pointedly.

Mingyu pouts, but doesn’t bother to deny it.

“What about me?” Vernon asks, puffing up, broadcasting self-confidence and righteousness.

Jihoon considers him for a moment. “2/10. I could feel how nervous you were and you kinda gave yourself away with the American accent. If you’re planning on making a quick getaway and hide your tracks, you need to drop that English.”

“Fair enough.” Vernon accepts

“What about Wonwoo?” Mingyu prompts, gesturing over to the front of the van where Wonwoo is driving.

“I’d rate him 4/10. He was certainly cold and seemed calculating with his silence. People find that intimidating. But it felt like he wasn’t there, like he almost blended into the background for a bit. He needs to be more confident with his presence.”

“What about the boss?”

Seungcheol glances at him, meeting his eyes for the briefest moment before turning back to stare at the floor. “You don’t have to answer that.” He says swiftly.

Jihoon is thankful for that; he would hate to be caught gushing about the guy in his review. _‘You were breath-taking. My heart stopped when you crashed through the door. And when you bent over-_

“Well—I rate you 5/10.” Mingyu announces, pointing at Jihooon—not that anybody asked him.

Jihoon cants his head, anticipating the punchline. “5/10 for what exactly? Being a hostage?”

“That—and for your customer service approach. You were— _kinda rude.”_

“Excuse me? You were robbing my bank you giant douche! I don’t have to be hospitable. I did everything by the book—I was 8/10 at least.”

“Enough chatter,” Seungcheol barks “We’re here. Mingyu—put the bag over his head.”

A second later, Jihoon has a cloth bag thrown over his head and he’s being manhandled — carried, mostly — out of the car and into a cooler, darker place.

He wonders where they are that Seungcheol and Mingyu can carry a hooded, bound man to a car and no one will see.

* * *

When they pull the bag off his head, Jihoon blinks to find himself sitting on what seems to be a bed in a motel room.

It’s a distressed twin suite in a shabby roadside establishment: stained carpet, broken television, cigarette burns on the furniture—real luxury. It’s only saving grace is a lovely view of the river. A pity Jihoon’s not in a mood to enjoy it.

“Alright—Listen up,” Seungcheol says, his voice takes on a commanding edge that makes Jihoon’s balls perk up in attention. “I’m going to pick up some supplies and make a few calls. Don’t leave the hostage alone at any time. Don’t let him near the phone and keep him comfortable. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The instructions are followed by a chorus of “Got it!” from the other three men.

“Keep a low profile and don’t attract attention to the room.” Seungcheol adds, slipping a jacket on and tucking a handgun into the back of his pants.

Jihoon watches Seungcheol head for the motel room exit.

He is debating whether it’s a smart move to entreat Seungcheol to tie him up and leave him in the back of the van instead of here in this room with these idiots. There’s something about incredible feats of stupidity that make Jihoon very nervous, and he doesn’t know why but he’s sure Seungcheol is the sanest of the bunch—even if he is the most dangerous.

He can tell it’d be a waste of breath to ask, though, so he just leans his head back and closes his eyes.

* * *

Once Seungcheol leaves, the dynamic in the room feels off.

Vernon is every bit as cheerful and friendly as Jihoon expected, if a bit overwhelming. Wonwoo, is unsurprisingly reserved; beady eyes inspecting every inch of the suite with scathing disdain before staking claim to the armchair and silently perusing a magazine. And Mingyu…Mingyu is an ass. No way around it.

“Sooooo.” He offers, to break the tension if nothing else. “What shall we do to pass the time.” Jihoon asks from where he's now lounging on one of the twin beds.

“Boss wants us to keep a low profile.” Mingyu repeats needlessly.

Jihoon reaches up to scrub the back of his hand over his lips and wipe the sweat from his eyes. He takes a few steadying breaths, “So what? We’ll just sit here and stare at each other shall we?”

“Shh—I’m thinking.” Mingyu shushes, pacing circles around the shabby motel suite like a demented Labrador.

“Oh great. We might be here for a while, everyone get comfortable.” Jihoon snarks.

“Okay—I’m done thinking.” Mingyu announces proudly. “I think you should take off your clothes.” He says, with a lecherousness that makes Jihoon nervous.

The suggestion is making Wonwoo and Vernon nervous too, and they exchange nervous glances with each other before turning to regard Mingyu, nervously. It’s all very nerve-racking basically and Jihoon has officially used the word 'nervous' too much there, and it doesn't even make sense any more.

Jihoon narrows his eyes; he’s starting to wish he’d been shot earlier. “Look. You seem like a nice bunch of guys—despite the robbery and kidnapping. But—you’re not my type.”

_Your boss however…._

“Yeah, Mingyu—dude—we never signed up to take part in an orgy.” Vernon says openly.

“What? No!” Mingyu recoils in horror. “I just meant we should get rid of his clothing. If the cops are on the lookout for him, his uniform will give us away.” He explains.

“Good point.”

Jihoon can feel all eyes on him, waiting for his reaction. He shakes his head. “No—That’s a stupid point. This is not a uniform this is a suit. I can take my name badge off and,” he unclips the badge from his lapel. “See—just another regular Joe in a suit.”

“I still think you should take your clothes off.”

“And what? Sit around naked? Fuck you!” Jihoon spits, then thinks better of his phrasing. “Not literally, obviously. Like I said, you’re not my type.”

_Seungcheol though….._

“We can buy you other clothes to wear.” Mingyu says, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. “Wonwoo—get his shirt size, go across to that mall we passed on the way here and buy him some inconspicuous clothing.”

“Who died and made you in charge?” Wonwoo asks matter-of-factly.

Mingyu looks at him piercingly and his nostrils flare. “Fine. Vernon—you go.”

* * *

Jihoon’s time spent waiting in the motel is creeping along like chilled molasses.

Vernon still isn’t back from the mall, and the only highlight so far has been Wonwoo and Mingyu bickering like an old married couple about what to watch on pay per view.

Mingyu wants to watch Spongebob Squarepants; Wonwoo insists on watching a documentary about ants on the Discovery Channel.

So naturally the settled for watching—The Gilmore Girls? Because that’s a suitable compromise for some fucking insane reason.

“When is Seungcheol coming back?” Jihoon asks, throwing his arms out, gesturing, as best as he can at the current Seungcheol-less state of the room.

“Why? You miss him?” Mingyu leers, wiggling his eyebrow.

“Yes—I do.” Jihoon says, mostly by gut reaction. Then he decides he should try to deflect. “It’s nice to be around somebody who I know isn’t going to swallow their own tongue and choke on it by accident.”

Mingyu opens his mouth to argue with him, but then he snaps it shut, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “He’ll be back soon.” He dismisses, turning back to watch the television.

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo begins, face scrunched and helpless. “What if the boss isn’t coming back?”

Mingyu blinks at him and screws up his face. “Oh god—Oh no. Don’t say that! He wouldn’t leave us!” He whimpers, looking properly horrified at just the prospect.

“You’re right, you’re right, he wouldn’t. He’s a good guy.” Wonwoo agrees, although his face scrunches up impossibly further.

Jihoon thinks about whether he's capable of making them doubt Seungcheol’s return and consequently, release him using complex psychology.

Or reverse psychology.

 _Some_  sort of psychology.

"I wouldn’t be so sure fellas," he offers instead. “Seungcheol’s been gone an awful long time. I mean—what’s taking him so long? I know he’s very disappointed in all of you.” Jihoon adds, schooling his voice to the low, authoritative one he's mastered over the years.

“After all, you fucked up this gig big time. Especially you Mingyu. I could feel the weight of disappointment in his eyes. And _what if_ —he’s left you to find a more competent crew?” he adds a theatrical gasp to the end of his sentence.

Both men stiffen visibly, eyes widening.

Jihoon had mostly been joking, but the way they look at him, as if he's telling them a horror story by the campfire. It doesn't bode well. “I’m sure he hasn’t though. I’m sure he’s coming back.” He placates quickly because, _Jesus Christ_ —they look like they’re about to cry.

Jihoon gets distracted, thinking of all the ways to use this information for his own nefarious gain, when he’s interrupted by the return of a very boisterous Vernon. “I’m back!” he cheers. He’s got a shopping bag with him and with a flourish, he reaches inside and pulls out a jumper.

Jihoon stares at the jumper. It’s a garish royal blue colour—but worst of all, it has a fucking bear embroidered on the front.

A million different thoughts run through his head, starting with, _'What the hell?'_ and ending with, _'Kill me now'_.

“What the fuck is this?” He hisses.

Vernon’s gaze switches between Jihoon and the jumper a few times. “Uhhh. Clothes?”

Jihoon tilts his head, letting his residual anger fill his voice. “It has a fuzzy fucking bear on it!” he growls, conveying with eyes and tone just how serious an offense this jumper is.

Vernon winces sheepishly. “Yeah—the thing is. It’s more of a strip mall than a full-sized mall and I couldn’t find any adult clothing stores. So I uhh—let’s just say, you are a large in the childrens clothing sizes.”

Jihoon inhales deeply, preparing his lungs for verbal warfare when Vernon pipes up again.

“I got you a hat too!” He says, pulling a matching cap out of the bag. It’s equally blue, equally horrendous but with furry ears stuck to the crown. “It came with the jumper. The shop assistant recommended I buy it as a complete outfit.” Vernon explains, seemingly proud of his purchases.

“Well done Vernon.” Mingyu rewards him with a friendly clap on the shoulder before turning to Jihoon, smiling crookedly. “Jihoon—go change.”

“I’m not wearing this crap.” Jihoon says, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mingyu squares up and tries to stare Jihoon down with a very determined look on his face. He looks like a puppy who’s been told he’s due a bath. “Take off your clothes.”

Jihoon narrows his eyes suspiciously. “What is it with you and trying to get me naked pal?”

Mingyu takes two steps forward, considers Jihoon with a slight crease between his eyes, as if he's debating the best way to appear threatening. Or the best way to actually be threatening, without throwing a few punches.

Because Jihoon now knows from experience that the idiot’s usual stab at threatening is to start waving his gun about, and occasionally poke people with it, he decides to comply with the ridiculous request.

He grabs at the unspooling threads of his patience and then grabs the outfit out of Vernon’s hands and stomps into the bathroom to change.

* * *

The most humiliating part about this whole thing isn’t the fact that Jihoon is wearing a horrific jumper with matching accessories—it’s that the outfit fits him.

The three idiots at least have the decency to refrain from commenting when he emerges from the bathroom. But they smile at him, like Jihoon is a performing clown, one who's got a sack of fucking balloons and is about to start blowing up balloon animals for everyone to enjoy.

“We ordered food!” Vernon cheers, gesturing to the small coffee table covered with take out boxes. “Hope you like ramen!”

Jihoon nods and takes a seat on the beaten up couch next to Vernon.

He picks up the only unclaimed container on the table, is just about to dip his chopsticks in—when Mingyu switches the lights off.

It’s dark and nobody can appreciate the utter look of contempt on his face, but he thinks his tone is imbued with enough disdain for that message to come across. “Although I appreciate you feeding me. I would like to be able to see my food.” Jihoon seethes.

“Sorry, gotta eat with the lights out. You heard the boss—gotta keep a low profile.” Mingyu explains, making no sense at all.

“What about keeping the lights on in the room is going to give us away?” Wonwoo asks.

“It’s dark. People will think we’re sleeping, they won’t disturb us.” Mingyu reasons stupidly.

“I can’t see shit!” Vernon says, fumbling around for his chopsticks.

“Okay—hold up. I’ll light a candle or something.” Mingyu says, using the light from his phone to fish around a drawer for emergency candles.

Wonwoo manages to conjure up a lighter out of nowhere and flicks it on to light the candle on the table.

“There—is that better?” Mingyu asks.

Jihoon shakes his head where no one can see him.

The candle lights 1% of the room, so it’s still mostly dark and it occurs to Jihoon that they should have just used Mingyu’s fucking phone as a light instead. 

“Can’t you just use the light from your phone instead so we can see what we’re eating? I would hate to—lobotomise any of you by accident with these chopsticks because I couldn’t see properly.” Jihoon suggests dryly.

“Yeah Mingyu—this is ridiculous. I can just about see my hands. OW!” Wonwoo yelps in the darkness. “You just stabbed me you jerk!” He accuses, smacking his hands away.

“Sorry—I thought that was the dumplings.” Mingyu chuckles sheepishly.

“No—that was my thigh you idiot. See how you like it!” Wonwoo snaps, poking him in the leg for good measure.

There's a faint but audible laugh from Jihoon's left that suggests Vernon is finding this all very amusing, like this is standard banter between all of them.

“Mingyu—give me your fucking phone so I can eat my fucking ramen!” Jihoon snaps.

“Nu—uh. Boss said not to let you anywhere near a phone. Nice try.” Mingyu says.

Jihoon grumbles and pats the table, searching for the phone and manages to smack his knuckles against at least four things.

Frankly, he’s had enough of this shit. He’s tired, he’s angry, he’s _hungry_ and hasn’t eaten anything more solid than a breath mint in twelve hours.

Where the fuck is Seungcheol?

How dare he leave him alone with these imbeciles.

“I can’t do this. I can’t eat by candle-light. I’m not CHARLES FUCKING DICKENS!” Jihoon screams, upending his box of ramen dramatically.

But that's when the door to their room clicks open and swings inward, and Jihoon had completely forgotten about keeping a low profile.

He can just make out Seungcheol’s silhouette in the doorway.

He wonders what the scene must look like to him; three idiots and Jihoon (dressed like an idiot), huddled around a table, eating ramen, by candle-light.

The light is flicked on and Jihoon has a second to register Seungcheol looking his own special variety of surprised and irritated in the doorway, before he opens his mouth.

“What the fuck is going on in here? Why are you guys eating in the dark?”  Seungcheol asks, then he does a double take at Jihoon’s new attire. “And—why is he dressed like that?”

“They made me take my clothes off!” Jihoon announces, ratting them out like he expects Seungcheol to tut and dole out punishment. He leans half out of his chair so that Seungcheol can get the full effect of his pout. “They made me watch three episodes of the Gilmore Girls too.”

“We—uhh—Mingyu thought we should change his clothes so he doesn’t give us away. That way, he doesn’t match the description the police are looking out for.” Vernon speaks up.

Mingyu swallows audibly. “Yeah—uhm, I thought it would look, less suspicious.”

“Oh—oh really?” Seungcheol smiles, tight and sarcastic, eyes locked on Mingyu in an unblinking stare. “It’s bad enough we kidnapped someone—now you want them to think we’ve kidnapped a kid?”

Mingyu drops his gaze, visibly retreating inward. “Uhhh—I didn’t think of that.”

Jihoon has to hold back a smile.

He has to admit it’s kind of funny. It would be funnier if he didn’t have a fucking bear on his jumper and ears on his hat and noodles on his lap.

“And what the fuck is up with that hat?” Seungcheol groans, scrunching his face up, like the hat actually offended him on a personal level.

“It—completed the outfit.” Vernon says, shifting uncertainly under Seungcheol’s stare.

“Get out.” Seungcheol says from the doorway, gesturing at his team with a flick of his wrist. “You’re rooms are down the corridor. Don’t leave them until I call you in the morning.”

They nod quietly, collect their keys and go off to their separate rooms.

* * *

As Seungcheol shuts the door, a shiver of apprehension settles in Jihoon’s stomach.

He much prefers Seungcheol’s company—but now they’re alone in the room, he realizes he’s going to be sleeping in the same room as the guy.

Suddenly, there being two beds in it makes sense.

A million scenarios run through his head in a split second, but he's lost, he didn't prepare for this.

“I’m sorry about that.” Seungcheol grimaces, setting his duffle bag on the floor. “I didn’t think I’d be gone that long and I definitely didn’t think they would try and undress you. But if you think you have it bad—remember I have to work with them every day.” He adds, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the chair near the dresser.

Jihoon can't resist the smirk that pulls out of him. “Listen. I know this is going to sound weird but—please don’t leave me alone with them again.”

The grin Seungcheol turns on Jihoon is overwhelming, to say the least. “Okay. I’ll try.” He says, employing his dimples full bore.

 _He’s got dimples for fucks sake_. Jihoon thinks numbly, because he can’t stop himself noticing these details even whilst his heart is hammering fit to burst in his chest.

No grown man who totes a gun about with such skill should be allowed to have dimples.

It’s not a peaceful interlude for either of them. Silent, edgy, weighted. Jihoon busies himself clearing up his noodle mess.

“You don’t have to wear that while you’re sleeping.” Seungcheol says, head tipped sideways as he studies Jihoon’s outfit, expression amused in a way that tells Jihoon that's not a compliment.

Jihoon can't help raising his eyebrows at that. He isn't sure where Seungcheol is going with this, but he’s obviously suggesting Jihoon take off his clothes.

Jihoon perks up, ready to cast aside the turmoil of the day in favor of something far more satisfying. Naked motel times with Seungcheol. “Okay—but uhmm—what would I wear then?”

“I could—give you one of my shirts to sleep in.” he says, very softly, corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile. “I’ll get you actual adult clothing first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, that’ll work.” Jihoon says, trying on a sincere expression. He almost adds _‘or I can just wear you big boy,’_ but chokes it off at the last minute.

He has a tendency to overdo it sometimes.

He dutifully waits as Seungcheol rummages around in his duffel for a spare shirt, before retreating into the bathroom.

* * *

It doesn’t work.

Jihoon feels even _more_ ridiculous in Seungcheol’s shirt then he ever did in that bear jumper.

Seungcheol’s built like a Greek god, so naturally his shirt is at least four sizes too big on Jihoon and hangs off his slighter frame, hem cutting just above his knees.

He thinks about tying the ends together—but he’s a grown man trying to prepare for sleep, not a woman about to redecorate the fucking motel room.

He’s been in the bathroom for ten minutes, starting to be too long. He dumps the bear jumper in the bin, tidies his hair, stares at himself hard in the mirror, and leaves.

He steps out of the small bathroom just in time to see Seungcheol clicking the safety on his Walther and tucking it away in the bedside table.

His belt is unbuckled but still on. His shirt is buttoned to the top, but his tie is off. He is, in fact, holding it in his hands, twisting it between his fingers. His bangs hang loose around his face in damp waves as if he's just come from a shower—but it’s just the loosening of the hair gel.

Jihoon swallows hard as Seungcheol rakes his eyes down his body.

“Somehow, your shirt makes me feel more ridiculous.” He shrugs awkwardly. If he weren’t so bloody flustered, he might have an easier time dissecting the meaning of the look Seungcheol’s giving him. It makes him feel self-defensive.

Seungcheol does a little heavy swallowing of his own. “No. You look _nic_ —I mean, fine.” He rasps. He looks unsure, gripping the limp material of his tie in his fist, winding it around thick, tense fingers.

Jihoon watches him through a sidelong glance.

This, he didn’t expect. Seungcheol is fidgeting with his tie, looking everywhere but at him. Acting bashful, of all things, as if he hadn’t just robbed a bank and taken Jihoon hostage earlier. It’s a novel experience, this shy man that has taken over the brazen criminal. Novel, but unsettling.

Jihoon is just about to put Seungcheol of out his misery when he gets beaten to the punch. Seungcheol coughs a little, turns to face Jihoon with outward calm. “I appreciate this has been—a long day for you.” He says.

“You can say that again.” Jihoon drawls.

“But I’m going to have to restrain you while we sleep. You understand.” Seungcheol says cautiously. He's smiling, but his eyes are careful, gauging Jihoon's reaction to him. The question, unspoken, is, _'Is this all right?'_

“Sure. I understand.” Jihoon answers.

He can’t understand why that gives him a little flutter of pleasure. He feels it creep up his spine in an unexpected way: the thrill that runs up his arms and then, strangely, settles him.

“How would you like me to restrain you to the bed?” Seungcheol asks.

Jihoon intends to reply with the thoroughly suggestive comment that remark deserves, but his words come out like, “Uhhhhhh?”

“Do you—wanna get comfortable first and—then I’ll tie you up in a more relaxing position to sleep?”

There's a moment where Seungcheol suppresses a grin more devilish than anything Jihoon has ever seen, then he lowers his gaze to the carpet and schools his features into something more sombre.

Or at least he tries to.

The pillow-soft bow of his mouth still curves up in a badly hidden smirk.

“I get to choose the position you tie me up in? That’s so kind and thoughtful of you.” Jihoon snarks.

But Seungcheol smiles, a dimple-smile no less. “You’re welcome. It’s the least I could do.”

“I was being sarcastic.” Jihoon huffs.

Seungcheol chuckles and steps into Jihoon’s breathing room, his voice dropping low and husky. “I know Jihoon. So was I.”

Jihoon turns to sit down on the bed, drained of energy for the moment.

When Seungcheol steps closer, towering over him, some perverse instinct has him parting his thighs slightly.

_I have no shame._

He scoots back on the bed and lies down, allows himself to relax, settling back against the pillows with his heart still pounding wildly in his chest. He spreads his legs open a little more as Seungcheol nears; knowing he looks like a shameless hussy and patently not giving a fuck.

He’s been anticipating this moment all bloody day.

The bed doesn’t have one of those frilly headboards, with slats and spokes or even posts. But Seungcheol is able to use a tie to anchor Jihoon’s ankles to the bed frame.

A full body shiver works its way up Jihoon’s spine as Seungcheol wraps one big, warm hand around one ankle to test the bindings. “How’s that?”

Jihoon has to hold his breath because he thinks he might actually moan, out loud, because Seungcheol touched his ankle! His breathing catches a little on the inhale. “Fine”

There's a quick flash of genuine concern, where Seungcheol's face is looming over him. Jihoon's a little surprised to see it. “Are you okay? Is that—too tight for you?”

Jihoon pushes himself to his elbows. “Isn’t that the whole purpose? This isn’t supposed to be comfortable so maybe you should stop trying.” he says, with his typical straightforwardness.

“Yeah—but—I don’t want to hurt you. I just need to restrain you. I have hand cuffs—but they’re not made for tiny wrists like yours.” Seungcheol says. There’s amusement in his tone, and it rankles Jihoon.

“It’s fine. Just get on with it.” Jihoon says tersely. He settles for glaring at the ceiling as Seungcheol moves up the bed and leans in close, too close, close enough for Jihoon to feel the heat of him, close enough to smell the cologne on his skin as he takes Jihoon’s hand in his.

“Gonna tie your hands now.” Seungcheol murmurs, the second tie held loosely in his hands. Jihoon surreptitiously checks the knots around his feet; there’s some give, allowing him to bend his knees some, but not much.

Jihoon nods his assent but remains quiet, trying to relax as Seungcheol loops the silk around one post before tying it expertly around his wrist.

“How does that feel Jihoon?” There's that polite sort of curiosity to Seungcheol's voice, that says he really wants to know.

Their eyes meet for a brief second and all the spare blood in Jihoon’s body betrays him by pooling in his groin.

As sexually starved as he is, all it takes is close proximity to that hard body to make his dick quiver. And, god help him, he’s always gotten off on bigger guys.

“Good.” Jihoon’s voice comes out cracked, unsteady in a way he's not exactly proud of. He clears his throat to try and make it work. His gaze shifts back up to the ceiling.

“I’m going to tighten it a little—okay?” Seungcheol asks, all roughness gone from his voice, as he fingers the silk that restrains Jihoon’s wrists.

He flicks his eyes up to meet Jihoon’s and Jihoon stops breathing — Seungcheol is looking at him… almost apologetically, and as sharp as his eyes were before, they are soft now, and deep and open.

“O-kay.” Jihoon says, and the word breaks a little. Seungcheol loops his other hand round the trailing edge of tie and very slowly pulls it tight.

Then he leans further over Jihoon to reach his other wrist, capturing it gently and pressing it into the mattress near the top of the frame.

Jihoon doesn't have to watch his hand to know his movements, how slowly he's going, what his thick fingers look like clasped around his wrist. It's much more interesting at this point to watch the emotions play out on Seungcheol’s features, the dark of his eyes. How his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. The way he refuses to break eye contact as he loops the silk around the bed post.

Jihoon is suddenly glad for the darkness so that Seungcheol can’t see him blushing furiously.

He’s desperate to look away but they both hesitate there for a second, both watching each other as Seungcheol coils the silk around and around Jihoon’s wrist.

He’s sure Seungcheol can feel his pulse leap beneath his palm, must know that Jihoon is a few gasps away from hyperventilating because he eases back, a look of patient understanding on his face. “Is that—too tight?” he asks, his voice soft.

“No—that’s perfect.” Jihoon says, his voice barely breaking above a whisper.

Seungcheol’s mouth quirks into a rueful smile. “Good.”

“Yeah.” Jihoon croaks.

Seungcheol shifts minutely, bracing both hands on either side of Jihoon’s head and looks down at him. Pretty mouth parted. Pretty eyelashes, dark and feathery, soft-looking. Jihoon wants to touch them.

For one ridiculous moment, he doesn't even want Seungcheol to fuck him – which is preposterous – he just sort of wants to lie back and let Seungcheol kiss and stroke him for a few hours.

He actually feels his insides go warm and weak with some unnamable feeling.

Feeling helpless is not normally Jihoon's thing, at all.

He thinks maybe it's the situation, or the frustration, or the feel of silk against his wrists - or, ok, God damn it, _fine,_ the company.

“Seungcheol,” Jihoon starts, but he trips over what he wants to say next because the idea that Seungcheol might say no — probably will say no — probably will say _‘what the fuck!’_ suddenly occurs to him and that might be more than he can handle right now. And one painfully awkward rejection per lifetime is more than enough, thank you very much.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol prompts, tilting his head, studying him closely. So naturally as to almost seem unconscious, Seungcheol’s pink tongue wets the innermost of his bottom lip as he lets his eyes roam Jihoon.

Fuck me, Jihoon thinks, before wincing mentally at the turn of phrase.

“Goodnight.” Jihoon’s mouth says, moving with its own volition.

Seungcheol blinks, “Okay—goodnight then.” He nods, lifting off the bed quickly.

The adrenaline drains from Jihoon's body and he can actually feel other chemicals taking its place. They manifest in desire and guilt. It's a rush, it hurts, it exhausts him all at once. All he can do is close his eyes against it.

He tries to sleep, but it’s difficult with Seungcheol in the room.

Is the guy watching him?

Is he jerking off?

Is he watching the Gilmore Girls?

Is he jerking off while watching the Gilmore Girls?

He’s undressing apparently, judging by the rustling of fabric.

Right now, Jihoon wants nothing in the world more than to lift his head and watch Seungcheol undress, slowly, and then maybe tell him to bench press something. Like Jihoon himself.

He resists the temptation however, he forces himself to take a slow breath and keeps his eyes closed, pretending to sleep.

The sound of Seungcheol’s belt falling seems loud in the quiet room, the fly of his trousers and the shuffling of fabric as he pushes it down his hips sounds obscene in Jihoon’s ears.

God—this is going to be a long night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Thank you for all the lovely comments on the previous chapter. I enjoyed reading them and they are so motivating. I haven't had time to reply in between writing this and working my boring ass job--but I will!  
> 2) More Seungcheol appreciation here......damn him.  
> 3) Hope you enjoy this chapter! Feedback appreciated as always!


	3. Credit Score

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigh......it's going to be short. I promise.

Well—sleep is not happening.

No sir. Not tonight.

Not with Seungcheol breathing less than a meter away from him, _possibly naked_.

Jihoon doesn’t know for sure because he kept his eyes closed as Seungcheol undressed; for all he knows, Seungcheol could be naked under the covers.

He seems like the kinda guy who _would_ sleep completely in the nude. The kinda guy who’s got enormous levels of body confidence and the attitude to match.

Jihoon tries to wriggle into a more comfortable position with the restraints tugging at his wrists.

His back is starting to twinge. He straightens up for a moment, rolls his shoulders to try to work out the tightening knots of tension. He anticipates spending the rest of the night staring at the ceiling and simmering in sexual frustration; he’s going to feel like ten kinds of hell in the morning.

“Jihoon?” Seungcheol’s voice calls out suddenly in the dark.

Jihoon blinks, startled. “Yeah?”

A rustling of sheets. “You awake?”

Isn’t it obvious? I’m answering you. “Uhh—duh?” Jihoon snarks.

“Sorry, I’m just—anxious.” Seungcheol admits.

“What are you anxious about?” Jihoon asks tentatively.

“That I’m sleeping next to a really hot guy who I want to bang!”

“Oh my god,” Jihoon’s voice comes out muted, croaky. He clears his throat and tries to sound like an adult again “I feel the same!”

“We should bang!” Seungcheol says agreeably.

“Let’s!”

Suddenly the restraints fall away from his wrists and ankles and Seungcheol is ripping his shirt off, uncaring of the damage.

They tumble on the bed, kissing and groping, wrestling for dominance. Jihoon is quick, but Seungcheol is bulky and ultimately ends up on top of him, catching both his wrists in one hand and pinning them above his head. Jihoon’s breath shudders into his lungs, unsteady.

“Oh fuck—you’re so hot!” Jihoon whispers breathlessly.

“How do birds have sex?” Seungcheol asks suddenly.

“What?”

Seungcheol turns serious. “Do they have—tiny bird penises? What position do they use? I’ve always wanted to know!”

“I have no idea—“ Jihoon trails off.

Then—the door swings open and in comes Vernon, Wonwoo and Mingyu playing a succession of increasingly larger saxophones to the tune of George Michael’s _‘Careless whisper’_. Then somebody is tapping Jihoon on the shoulder. It’s Seungkwan!

“Sorry to disturb you Jihoon—but they’re somebody on the line for you.” Seungkwan says, handing him over the phone.

“Do you mind if I take this?” He finds himself asking a sexily dishevelled Seungcheol.

“If you must!” Seungcheol sulks. It’s adorable.

Jihoon holds the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

It’s the owner of his favourite pizza place, calling to inform Jihoon he’s just won a lifetime supply of pizza.

Everyone celebrates and high fives each other. Mingyu hugs Wonwoo, Vernon hugs Seungkwan. Seungcheol goes down on him. Gwen Stefani is there, she gives him a thumbs up.

Life is good.

Turns out Jihoon was able to drift off to sleep after all, because THAT was most definitely a dream. Maybe one of the best dreams he ever had, but sadly—just a dream.

* * *

His mouth is dry when he wakes.

He’s stiff all over. No surprise there; he doesn’t move much when he’s sleeping, and even a two-hour nap often has him waking with a crick in his neck.

He’s never slept tied to the bed before either, his sex life is not _that_ adventurous.

_What sex life you ask?_

**Shut the fuck up!**

He half expects Seungcheol to be gone in the morning, but he’s still there in the next bed, lying on his back with his hands clasped loosely on top of his stomach.

Jihoon wonders if he’s slept at all, or if he’s been lying there like that all night, staring at the ceiling.

 _Maybe dreaming of him?_ —Probably not. He doesn’t even know if Seungcheol is gay. All this wishful thinking and indulgent dreaming is pointless if the man’s not an unapologetic lover of cock.

Jihoon stretches, stifling a grunt at the stiffness in his back.

Seungcheol rolls his head to the side to look at him. “Good morning Jihoon. Did you have a good dream?” He asks, brow quirked.

Jihoon freezes mid yawn. “Uhh— _yeah?”_ _Oh fuck_.

Does he know?

Did Jihoon moan his name in his sleep?

“Why do you ask?” Jihoon asks warily.

“You were singing in your sleep.” Seungcheol explains, seemingly amused. “Gwen Stefani I think? Apparently, the shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S.” he chuckles, a little mocking, but not cruel.

Jihoon wants to grumble at him to shut up, but he only sighs.

Seungcheol looks at him for a moment, head tilted slightly to the side, like a curious dog. “What were you dreaming about?”

“Uhh—it was about,” Jihoon hesitates, unsure if that there’s a way to honestly end that sentence that won’t result in Seungcheol laughing himself into a coma. “-getting rescued out of this hellish nightmare of an adventure and driving to freedom.”

Seungcheol’s eyes narrow suspiciously, “And Gwen Stefani was there?”

“She was driving the car.” Jihoon lies. Seungcheol smiles at that, eyes crinkling.

“Why are you awake so early?” Jihoon asks, quickly changing the topic.

“I thought we could have breakfast cause we didn’t exactly feed you yesterday. There is a 24 hour diner just across the road and I think it’s wise for us to go before it gets busy with people who could recognise us.”

Jihoon nods agreeably. “Great—I could use breakfast. And coffee.” Lots of coffee. He’s not going to sleep ever again just in case he starts moaning Seungcheol’s name in his sleep.

Jihoon watches as Seungcheol kicks the sheet away and rises from the bed to reach for the phone at the other end of the room.

Jihoon’s a little disappointed to find he’s not naked, just wearing a T-shirt and boxers. At least he can get a better look at those thighs and – _oh fuck._

Seungcheol picks the room phone up to make a call. His head is tilted to the side, trapping the phone against his shoulder, but the line of his back is straight. He’s got impeccable posture. No lifetime hunched over desks at work for him— _bent over desks perhaps._

Jihoon can't stop looking at Seungcheol’s broad back, the way it narrows at the waist just before the perfect curve of his ass.

He's sure that he's being obvious about it, his mental undressing of the man.

“Are you—maybe—perhaps—thinking of untying me?” Jihoon asks hopefully.

“Yeah, sure. After I have a shower and get changed. Sit tight Sweetpea.” Seungcheol says, rummaging through his duffel for a change of clothes.

Jihoon takes pride in the fact that he doesn't even bat an eyelash.

 _Sweetpea?—_ He must have heard that wrong.

Seungcheol grabs his stuff and disappears into the bathroom, taking his beautiful ass with him.

Without that distraction, it’s a bit easier for Jihoon to talk his erection down.

* * *

Seungcheol emerges from the bathroom showered and fully dressed.

Jihoon tries not to look disappointed.

He remains silent as Seungcheol removes his restraints and heads into the bathroom without another word between them.  

He can hear the TV blaring as he strips out of his clothes, punctuated by Seungcheol’s occasional laugh as he flips through sitcom reruns.

Jihoon lets that laugh roll off his skin as he turns on the shower, waits for the water to warm up, and steps inside.

Despite the cheap motel vibe the place reeks of, with so much blessedly hot water drumming his skin, Jihoon can’t say a bad word about it.

He reaches over to the shampoo dispenser and freezes, eyes tunnelling in on a very large, very hairy looking spider on the adjacent wall. He finds himself flinching back automatically with a little noise of distress before he can stop himself.

“Uhm—Seungcheol?” He calls out, making himself heard over the sound of running water.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol’s voice gets clearer as he approaches the door. “What’s up?”

“Can I borrow your gun?” Jihoon says slowly, trying not to sound like he might start screaming hysterically at any moment.

“No. You cannot.” Seungcheol’s voice sounds surprisingly even, considering the request.

“Pretty please?” Jihoon whimpers.

“What are you doing in there that requires a gun?” Seungcheol says softly, like he’s talking Jihoon off a ledge.

“It’s just that—there’s,” Jihoon freezes, looking back over to the wall only to find the spider has completely disappeared.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid—never take your eyes off a spider!_

He starts to glance around the shower frantically, trying to locate the spider through the heavy fog of steam. But it’s nowhere to be found. He relaxes marginally because, perhaps it has been washed down the drain?

He reaches over to the shampoo dispenser again and pumps some shampoo in his hand—and that’s when the spider drops onto his arm.

Naturally—he begins to scream his fucking head off. Many things happen at once.

Jihoon flails about, throwing the spider off his arm; the shower curtain gets ripped off its hooks in his panicked attempt to flee; Seungcheol kicks the door in; Jihoon jumps, out of the tub, completely naked and half wrapped in a shower curtain right into Seungcheol’s arms; and Seungcheol catches him.

“What the hell Jihoon?” Seungcheol says, sounding only slightly peeved at the fact that he’s now drenched with water and holding a half-naked man.

“Spider!” Jihoon puffs. Decisively, like that answers everything.

Seungcheol’s mouth curls at the edge. “Are you serious?”

“It’s fucking huge, okay!” Jihoon snaps, with a shaky sort of horror. “It landed on my arm!”  He whimpers, shaking, horribly and obviously, he'll be lucky if he can ever have a shower again without some sort of psychological counselling.

There's an awkward exchange of limbs and shuffling, though more awkward on his part than Seungcheol's, who handles it graciously.

They creep back into the bathroom, Seungcheol leading the way with his gun drawn; Jihoon huddled behind him and still wrapped in the shower curtain. “I can’t see it.”

“It’s in the corner, I flung it into the corner.” Jihoon whispers, as if the spider could hear and perhaps understand them enough to plan its escape.

“Oh yeah—I think I see it! Oh fuck—it **is** huge **.** And—I think it’s _looking_ at me.” Seungcheol looks plaintive, which is saying a lot for someone with that many muscles.

“Shoot it! Shoot it!” Jihoon demands, hands clasping Seungcheol’s forearm tightly.

“I’m not wasting bullets on a spider! Besides, my aim’s not that accurate and I might just piss it off more.” Seungcheol reasons, looking properly horrified at just the prospect.

“I don’t care what you do! Just get rid of it!” Jihoon says tartly.

It takes ten minutes, a pep talk, some teamwork and a lot of hysterical squealing when they lose sight of it again, but they finally manage to flush the spider down the toilet.

Once Seungcheol drops the toilet seat down, Jihoon’s whole body relaxes – he lets out a long breath he didn’t even notice he’d been holding.

It takes him a long moment to realise that he is naked and clinging to Seungcheol like a lamprey.

He knows he should feel embarrassed, but Seungcheol doesn’t seem to mind; he has a strong arm around Jihoon’s waist, holding both the shower curtain and Jihoon against him firmly. As Jihoon moves to carefully extricate himself, Seungcheol’s grip tightens.

A stray droplet of water breaks free from Jihoon’s wet fringe and lands on his collar bone, beginning its journey down his chest. Seungcheol’s eyes trace its path and before Jihoon can open his mouth to say anything to break the tension, Seungcheol reaches up to smudge it away with his thumb.

The first brush of skin over skin is barely noticeable. Jihoon can feel a shiver rolling across his flesh, goosebumps pushing to the surface.

Jihoon stares at him, a flush creeping up his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

He doesn’t think of how Seungcheol’s hands would fit so nicely over his hips or how easily he could press his mouth to Seungcheol’s throat or how his whole brain seems to purge itself of common sense when Seungcheol is close.

Jihoon swallows. He licks his lips and Seungcheol tracks the movement of his tongue with his eyes, and Jihoon senses Seungcheol means to swing his head down and kiss him, damp hair and shower curtain and all. However, the moment passes as fleetingly as an errant thought, and Jihoon tells himself the diminishing joy in his stomach is only because he hasn't eaten properly.

“Uhmm.” Jihoon says, pulling back a little. He watches the way Seungcheol's eyes half close, fingers flexing tight where they hold his waist.

“Uhmm—yeah.” Seungcheol says, loosening his grip on Jihoon and standing back a little. His eyes dart towards the door, towards the shower, towards anything but Jihoon.

The longer he stands there, earnest and uncomfortable, the more Jihoon wants to pull him into the shower with him.

 “Thanks?” Jihoon offers, not quite sure why he makes it a question. Most likely due to the lingering awkwardness, embarrassment and the fact that he has just realised the shower curtain is transparent.

Great.

His bits are on display—why is he even holding it?

“Don’t mention it.” Seungcheol waves him iff, giving Jihoon a slow look up and down before stepping out of the bathroom.

I wont. _Ever._

* * *

Jihoon emerges from the bathroom in his shirt and trousers from the day before, suit jacket tossed over his arm.

His hair has been tamed, for the moment at least, with a combination of water and willpower. There is a bottle of cheap motel issue hair gel sitting in plain view on the sink, but Jihoon hates the brand and would resort to using his own saliva before nicking any.

They go across the road to the nearest diner. It’s a bit cooler out on the street, a faint morning breeze teasing at the damp spots on Jihoon’s shirt. I

t feels good to be out of that motel room, even if Seungcheol is guiding him with a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Where are the others?” Jihoon asks as they approach the entrance.

Seungcheol’s reply is not immediate. “Still sleeping.” He says after a minute.

It’s Jihoon’s turn to hesitate now. “Just us?” he says at last, watching carefully for the other man’s reaction.

Seungcheol’s face gives nothing away, but he twists the room key between his fingers anxiously. “Yeah, just us. Is that a problem?”

“No. It’s just that,” He pauses-

_This is obviously a date, WE’RE GOING ON A DATE! Me and Seungcheol are dating!_

Okay, so It’s a diner and it’s a dilapidated, greasy, hole and there may be a dead man lying in the corner booth—but Seungcheol’s buying: it’s a date. “I figured you would want help watching me. In case I made a run for it or something.” He finishes.

Seungcheol shrugs. “They needed the rest and leaving the motel at different times looks less suspicious.” He reasons.

He’s stopped fidgeting; Jihoon can’t quite decide if that means he’s lying or telling the truth. “Besides, I’m more than capable of handling you on my own. Are you questioning my ability to handle you?” Seungcheol says, offering him a ghost of a smile.

“Oh no, no. I’m sure you’re more than capable of handling me.” Jihoon says, before he can stop himself.

* * *

They sit idly in the booth for a while, listening to the radio as they look over the sparse menu.

The motel and diner are situated in a quiet area; there are only a handful of cars parked, and fewer patrons.

“Made your mind up? What would you like to eat?” Seungcheol asks.

 _Your dick,_ Jihoon doesn’t say. “ _Sausage_ –and pancakes.”

“Sausage? Wouldn’t you prefer bacon and pancakes?” Seungcheol asks, gesturing to the menu.

Bacon and pancakes DOES sound like a better combination, but he’s not telling Seungcheol this. “No. I prefer sausage.” He replies curtly.

Seungcheol gives him a look that says ‘I don’t believe you’, and then says, “But, bacon goes better with pancakes, and maple syrup on top.”

“Don’t tell me what I like. I know what I like.” he informs Seungcheol with a sniff of indignation.

Seungcheol lifts his eyebrows. “I’m just giving you a suggestion. Don’t take it personally. I love the combination of bacon and pancakes is all, I thought you might like it too.”

The radio in the background goes silent just as Jihoon announces, **“I love sausage!”** into the suddenly silent diner and finds all eyes on him.

Seungcheol bursts into laughter and all Jihoon can do it grumble and lean back in his seat, fold his arms and lift a condemning eyebrow.

They kill twenty minutes trying to get their order right because the waitress is genetically closer to a moth then a human being and keeps reciting the order back incorrectly. Which inevitably results in Jihoon practically yelling out “What’s a man gotta do to get some sausage in here!” just as the radio goes quiet again. Why is his life like this?

She scurries off to call up their order and now it’s just the two of them with no distractions. No excuses not to talk.

“So,” Jihoon says.

“So,” Seungcheol echoes.

Soo……this is awkward. Especially when Seungcheol’s gaze is very intent and very unnerving.

Christ, why does he have to have such beautiful eyes, Jihoon thinks, distracted.

Jihoon is an improviser, and he can bloody get himself through this.

“So, how long have you been robbing banks and kidnapping people?” Jihoon asks.

“A few years, after I was discharged from the military.” Seungcheol says. He gives Jihoon a shuttered look; eyes darkening a fraction, then he winces like he's admitted something he didn't want to.  “The kidnapping is new territory if I’m being honest.”

Jihoon blinks – _Military_ —he thinks, and then immediately pictures Seungcheol doing press-ups in only his army fatigues, because he is only human after all.

He may need more coffee for this.

“That’s good to know. Guess I should feel special that I was your first…….kidnapping!” Jihoon adds quickly.

That gets him a smile, from across the table, lopsided and unexpected. “And what about you? How long have you been working in banks and getting kidnapped?”

“Since college. Would you be surprised if I told you this isn’t the first time I’ve been kidnapped?”

Or the second, or the third, in fact Jihoon could probably fill an entire notebook, if anyone asked. He hopes to god no one ever asks.

The rumble of Seungcheol’s laugh is enough to make Jihoon’s toes curl. “No, it would not. You do seem very-” He waves a hand negligently in the air, “-experienced with the whole ordeal. And, if I’m being honest—you are _very_ kidnappable.”

“How’s that?” Jihoon asks, an inch away from pouting.

“Because you’re small Sweetpea.” Seungcheol says suddenly, lips curling into the barest hint of a smile.

So, he did hear that right the first time. _Sweetpea_ —that's enough to make Jihoon pout with full force at him across the table and he feels Seungcheol focus on that pout and wishes that he hadn’t pouted in the first place.

Thankfully the waitress comes with their coffee orders and Jihoon is quick to take his, steadfastly emptying sugar after sugar into his cup.

He keeps his head down, hoping that Seungcheol won’t notice that he is surely blushing stupidly. But the guy has the nerve to snicker at him and Jihoon wants to dump his coffee into his lap even though he’s finally got the right amount of sugar in it.

After a strained silence in which Seungcheol looks smugly amused and Jihoon practically scalds his throat so he doesn’t throw the cup into Seungcheol’s lap after all, their food arrives.

Jihoon reaches over to pluck the utensils out of the tray at the side of the table when three things happen all at once: the overhead doorbell dings; two men walk into the diner; and Seungcheol takes hold of his hand, intertwining their fingers.

Jihoon nearly has a heart attack at this last one. He glances surreptitiously round to see if anyone else has noticed. “Uhm?”

_OH MY GOD!—chill out this means nothing—HE’S HOLDING MY HAND!—yes but that doesn’t mean anything—WE’RE ON A DATE!—control yourself!_

He opens his mouth to ask Seungcheol if he can have his hand back while he eats, and perhaps offer another limb for him to hold on to, only to see Seungcheol’s stoic face clear in the space of an instant, eyes lighting up with danger. He is so painfully, unfairly hot that for a long moment Jihoon can’t tear his gaze away from him, until the waitress comes around to slip their bill on the table, and it occurs to him to wonder exactly what Seungcheol is reacting to.

It turns out those two guys who walked into the diner are off duty highway cops, who have settled in high stools at the counter for their morning coffee.

Seungcheol and him stare at each other for a long, tense moment, before Seungcheol abruptly shifts forwards in his seat, and squeezes Jihoon’s hand.

“Stay calm, don’t make any sudden movements. Act natural.” Seungcheol says quietly. But Jihoon gets the distinct impression he might be talking to himself.

“Okay—but we’re holding hands Seungcheol.”  Jihoon says. He gives a slow but insistent tug where their hands are still pressed together, and is very slightly gratified when Seungcheol doesn’t look horrified.

Seungcheol glances down, blinks, but doesn’t release his hold. He does brush his thumb almost idly along the inside of Jihoon’s wrist. “Just keep looking at me. Smile and relax. Pretend we’re on a date or something.”

“Really? A date? In a diner? Do I look _that_ low maintenance to you Seungcheol? I may not seem overly romantic but—I like to be swept off my feet really.” Jihoon jokes, if not to lighten the mood, then to disguise the rush of blood to his face.

Seungcheol chuckles and loosens his hold on Jihoon’s hand a little. Presses the pad of his thumb over his pulse point. 

Jihoon feels his own pulse quicken at the way Seungcheol’s head tilts ever so slightly as he smiles. “I swept you off your feet yesterday didn’t I?”

Jihoon bristles. “Yes—but into the back of an unmarked van! That hardly counts as romance!”

Then Seungcheol voice dips into the territory of husky and he locks gazes with him, and for a very frivolous split-second Jihoon almost forgets about the cops, almost believes it to be a real date.

“I tied you to a bed too. That must count as romantic on some level—in somebody’s books at least.” Seungcheol says with a grin.

Jihoon’s almost glad he hadn’t started eating, because he would have been choking on his sausage at this very moment instead of choking on thin air.

“You’re drawing attention to us Sweetpea.” Seungcheol murmurs through clenched teeth; his fingers tightening incrementally between Jihoon’s own.

And sure enough, Jihoon’s choking has drawn the attention of the highway police, who glance over to their table in customary suspicion.

“Oh Fuck. Fuck.” Seungcheol mutters under his breath, giving Jihoon’s wrist a hard squeeze, just shy of painful. “They’re looking over here—they look suspicious.” He hisses.

“Well, perhaps it’s because we’re two guys—holding hands—in a diner—at 7am in the morning—as our breakfast gets cold.” Jihoon says as evenly as he can manage.

“Crap. I didn’t think this through. I panicked. I don’t-” He trails off, looks at Jihoon helplessly, a silent plea.

Jihoon’s chest constricts painfully. “It’s okay, relax.”

Great, now he’s comforting Seungcheol.

No one has ever accused Jihoon of being overly soft-hearted, and yet even he is feeling an odd kind of urge to reach out and pet Seungcheol on the head in reassurance.  “Maybe we’ll just disengage slowly and get back to eating.”

“No.” Seungcheol spits. Something jabs him uncomfortably in the knee – Christ, he forgot about the gun – and Seungcheol’s voice and face are both a bit harder when he says, “If we pull apart just because they’re watching it will look suspicious. Keep holding my hand.”

“Fine. We’ll do it your way. Let’s talk about something and try and look normal.” Jihoon says, in the steadiest voice he can manage.

“You have pretty hands.” Seungcheol replies without a beat, as if he's been holding those four words in his mouth all along, and then he's smiling again, looking more relaxed.

Jihoon closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again, focusing on Seungcheol’s face. He wets his lips, nervously, and says, “What?”

“I said, you’ve got pretty— “ Seungcheol draws up short, ears flushed red at the tips. His fingers flex over Jihoon’s, thumb stroking over the back of his hand, “I’m acting along with the date scenario, play along.”

Jihoon blinks at him but another painful squeeze has him nodding emphatically. “Oh—okay. You’ve got pretty,” _Ass, thighs, eyes, lips, lashes,_ oh god—so much to choose from. “Ears!” He blurts out.

Seungcheol promptly snorts his coffee then gapes at him from the other end of the booth– he does look so terribly appealing with his mouth open.

“Now _you’re_ drawing attention to us.” Jihoon hisses.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that. You said I have pretty ears. Nobody’s ever said that to me before.” He says, ducking his head almost bashfully. It’s cute—or would be cute if he wasn’t currently holding a gun to Jihoon’s crotch!

“Awww.” Jihoon finds himself intoning. “I’m sure lots of people like your ears, they’re maybe more fixated on other features.” Have you seen your ass?

Seungcheol makes a face at him. “Or maybe because people don’t usually compliment other people’s ears. It’s a little weird.”

Jihoon shoots him an unimpressed look. “Uhm—shut up? You said my hands are pretty. That’s way weirder.”

“No it’s not. People compliment each others hands all the time. Hands are one of the features I study the most. You can tell a lot about a person just by looking at their hands.” he says as his fingers slide up Jihoon's wrist, up to his exposed bit of arm where Jihoon has his sleeves rolled up. He glides his fingertips over the skin there. “Hands can be very definitive and some say the length of a persons fingers, the feel and temperature of their skin is like a window into their life.”

“How?” Jihoon asks. Despite his better judgment, he’s leaning forward, a little charmed. “What do my hands say about me?”

“Well—your hands are very special. See how the index finger is a little longer than the ring finger? That says you’re a natural born leader with a lot of confidence. You’re resourceful, not afraid to go after what you want, but you’re very short tempered. It’s easy for you to befriend people, but harder to trust them. And you have a wild imagination.”

Fuck. That’s accurate. “Oh. Well-“ Jihoon begins to protest.

“I’m not finished.” Seungcheol interjects, turning Jihoon’s hand in his slowly, thumb tracing in-between the knuckles. It’s a light touch. Warm. Not careful, exactly, but not careless either – more the sort of casually affectionate gesture he might mimic whilst holding the hand of a long-term lover, easy and impulsive.

“Your hands are—small and soft and, pink.” Seungcheol says, almost reverently. He seems distracted momentarily before he coughs, “So I can tell you’ve never worked hard graft in your adult life. Personal hygiene is important to you. You’re very meticulous with your work and have a great attention to detail. You’ve been on the fast track of your career since you started working, but you feel like you’ve reached a dead end in your career. You haven’t made a lot of new friends since you’ve moved to the city but you tolerate certain people just so you have somebody to complain to. You have a gym membership but you have only attended the induction. Oh—and you jerk off three times a week.” He finishes in a rush.

Jihoon’s eyes have been getting progressively wider with each sentence. But the last statement has him wrinkling his nose in disbelief.

“What? You can tell I jerk off three times a week by looking at my hands?”

Seungcheol gets an odd knowing smile and says, “Not exactly. But statistically, the average man jerks off 2.5 times a week, so I just rounded up.”

“The average man jerks off two and a half times a week?” Jihoon repeats incredulously.

Who the fuck is having half a wank and calling it a day?

“And why did you round me up to three and not round me down to two?”

Seungcheol grins at that, moving his hand in a long slow glide from Jihoon’s forearm to wrist. “Because I can tell you haven’t been laid in some time, so I guessed you’d be jerking off a lot more to compensate.”

Jihoon wrinkles his nose again. “You can tell all that from my hands?”

 “Yeah—and that blush on your face helps too.” He says, looking deeply amused.

He may very well be joking, but that doesn't stop Jihoon's decent mood from taking a swan dive.

Jihoon doesn’t like the feeling he has that he is being constantly mocked in some low-level way. He can’t quite hold back a tight, bitter smile. “Oh yeah. Well, you wanna know what your hands say about you?”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow expectedly. “What?”

“You’re a giant dick!” He grumbles. It’s not his sharpest riposte, but he’s increasingly distracted by that fucking brilliant smile, the warmth of Seungcheol’s hands and little persuasive circles his thumb is tracing along his wrist.

Seungcheol stares at him. And then says, slowly, “You’re absolutely right, I do have a giant dick.”

His fingers flex in Seungcheol’s grip, pressing into his skin. “Oh—you’re such a conceited prick. This fake date is over.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not over till I say it’s over Jihoon.” Seungcheol says, clenching his hand.

“It is **_so_** over. I can’t believe I ever agreed to fake date you in the first place. You’re not even my type!” Jihoon says, clumsily offering the first thing that comes to mind.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bullshit. I’m totally your type.” He says frankly, and Jihoon can feel the heat at the back of his neck.

“Are not!”

The corner of Seungcheol’s mouth twitches. “The blush on your face says different.” He says smoothly, voice all darkness and honey.

Jihoon doesn’t reply.

He considers the intent look in Seungcheol’s eyes; the cocky smirk threatening his lips; the itch prickling under his own skin.

They stay there for several long seconds, Jihoon’s blood throbbing fast and strong against Seungcheol’s fingers – and then somebody clears their throat, jolting them both out of the moment.

It’s the three idiots, standing at the foot of the booth, observing this exchange with narrowed eyes.

“What are you guys doing? And why are you holding hands?”

Jihoon wrenches himself free of Seungcheol’s admittedly lax grip.

Seungcheol pulls his hand away, reluctantly, and sits back in his seat. “Uhh—we—there were cops. We needed to act normal.” He says dumbly.

Vernon glances between them. “By holding hands?”

Seungcheol’s face darkens – he’s blushing, Seungcheol _is blushing_ – and he looks away. “Will you just sit down and order.”

Jihoon finally picks up his utensils, jabbing his fork into the sausage more vigorously than is probably warranted.

He’s very carefully not looking at Seungcheol, which is awkward since there's now very one-sided staring going on across the table. It has the rather disturbing feel of a bad break-up that everyone's carefully not mentioning.

He chews on his sausage aggressively and spares a quick glance at Seungcheol beneath narrowed eyes, thinking about how if this whole thing was different, how he would seduce him.

If they were strangers in a bar, or if he was in this diner under any other circumstance and he happened to catch a glimpse of this tousled, feathery-lashed hunk, how would Jihoon begin to lure him into bed?

A smile, first of all. One of those coy looks from under his lashes guys go weak for.

Jihoon knows his is more of an angry squint than bashful flirtation—but he could practice it. Maybe a little eyelash fluttering thrown in for good measure.

Although he’s tried that before and the response has usually been _‘Dude have you got something in your eye?’_

An inane conversation topic comes next. One that Jihoon happens to be awesome at—like—fixed rate mortgages or something.

Then a brief touch of the wrist, followed by a slide of the fingers, suggestive. Seungcheol said it himself, Jihoon has pretty hands, he needs to factor them into the equation. Maybe some kind of mime routine or an interpretative dance—using his hands!

And, once Seungcheol showed signs of being interested, a direct proposition.

Jihoon has always been candid about his seductions, which isn't to say that he's rude about them.

At least, he hopes he's not. But he doesn't see the point of dancing around when it's clear that both parties want to fuck.

So, yeah. That's how he would pull Seungcheol in, if he wasn't a kidnapping bank robber, and Jihoon wasn't—well—Jihoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! Feedback is appreciated :)


	4. Amortization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eyebrow raising everywhere!

Jihoon and Seungcheol finish their breakfast well before the others, but sit quietly as the others eat and Vernon fills in the silence with regular comments about how fucking good these pancakes are and how he wants a birthday cake made of pancakes.

Seungcheol’s posture has loosened a little since their close encounter with the highway police. He looks pensive, rather than weary.

The waitress comes over to top up everyone’s coffee and slips another bill under an empty plate. “We’ll go dutch on the bill.” Wonwoo announces, and Jihoon watches as they bicker over who ordered what and start splitting the itemised bill and somebody even whips out their phone to calculate the tip.

Seungcheol’s paid for their food earlier, as he fucking should, with all that heist money feathering his nest. But watching the other three grown men argue about a side order of bacon that apparently NOBODY ate, infuriates him.

“Are you guys serious?” Jihoon rolls his eyes before leaning in to whisper quietly. “Didn’t you just make away with millions of dollars? Why are you splitting the bill like you have nothing.”

There is a shocked silence from the bickering trio, who almost seem insulted by the comment.

“Dude. Just because we robbed a bank doesn’t mean we’re rich.” Mingyu says, stupidly.

Jihoon gives the announcement all the incredulity it deserves. “Yes, yes it does. That’s _exactly_ what it means.” he says in a flat voice, ignoring the faint smile starting at the corner of Seungcheol’s mouth.

“Nuh-uh. My share is going to pay off my student loans.” Vernon pipes in.

Jihoon gives him his coolest, most disbelieving stare, the one Seungkwan calls his bank manager stare because it's backed with the accumulated experience of checking people's dodgy accounts and saying, through the force of his eyes, _I know how you spend your money and I am not impressed._ He manages to hold it for ten seconds before Vernon adds, thoughtfully, “And maybe buying a car for my mom.”

“Yeah. I’ve got student debts too. And the rest is going on a down payment for a mortgage. I’m tired of renting. I’ve got a nice studio apartment overlooking a garbage dump waiting for me.” Wonwoo explains, now wearing his favourite blank face on the other side of the booth.

“I have gambling debts to pay off.” Mingyu admits openly. He leans back in the booth and slouches his shoulders. He seems to realize how bad that sounds, because he adds, “They’re not even mine. My brother borrowed money from a loan shark and when he didn’t keep up with his payments they punctured his lung. He’s recovering in hospital. I’m helping him out.” He explains, rankling—he nurses the omission like a personal injury.

Jihoon gapes at the table.

He’s hardly got the moral authority to judge anyone else for not acting in their own self-interest; a lot of people would probably have done the same in Mingyu’s position.  (helped a brother out, not robbed a bank that is.)

Jihoon’s never robbed a bank before. But if he had, he’d have spent the money better. It figures the three idiots haven’t even got the character to be self-serving assholes properly.

He’s holding out hope for Seungcheol, who’s watching him very closely now, his chin raised. Like he’s waiting for Jihoon to ask.

“Please tell me that you at least have a selfish, self serving, crude, _vulgar_ plan for your share of the heist.” Jihoon asks, looking at Seungcheol accusingly.

Seungcheol leans back in his chair and rubs his lips, his eyes fixed on Jihoon. “I’m donating the money to keep the orphanage that raised me open. They’re in bad financial states and are due to close at the end of the month.” He says matter-of-factly.

Jihoon fails at hiding his surprise. “Really?!” He asks in a shocked voice.

He glances at Wonwoo for clarification, who just looks exasperated, then Mingyu, who is busy making the salt and pepper shakers kiss, and then at Vernon, who seems to be on the verge of bubbling over with laughter.

Seungcheol leans closer, dead serious. “No, Jihoon. That was a joke. I’m just a criminal.” He says, then leans back in his seat again. “I was thinking of buying a speedboat actually.”

Jihoon sighs in relief, a bit impressed by this impenitent show of greed.

He doesn’t know why he cares how they decide to spend their money or how they live their lives.

He has his own life, comfortable and slightly rounded at the edges, familiar and thumbed-through. Some men might get bored with it, the lack of challenge and excitement.

Not him. _Definitely_ , not him.

He’s always aspired to a life of uncomplicated monotony.

He’s not bored, okay. In a few days, Seungcheol will release him and he’ll go back to it— _he can’t wait._

He looks at the four men gathered around the table, and thinks that there's a story there, possibly a good one.

He wants to ask how they met, but Seungcheol is already ushering him out of the booth and towards the van.

* * *

“Okay—we’ve got a long drive ahead of us before we stop for the night, so get comfortable.” Seungcheol announces as they approach the van.

“Shot gun!” Jihoon declares quickly.

“Damn!” Mingyu and Vernon curse in unison as Jihoon skips victoriously to the front of the van.

“Wait—should he even be riding up front? He’s the hostage, people might see him.” Mingyu calls after them, weakly.

Seungcheol shrugs his shoulders, and opens the front passenger door for Jihoon to climb in. “He called Shotgun Mingyu—get over it.”

“But, I get motion sickness on long journeys. I need to sit in the front.” He whines.

Seungcheol looks at the sky as if imploring for patience. “What can I say Mingyu, you shoulda called shotgun first. I can’t denounce the rules of shotgun for anyone.” Seungcheol disagrees, patently unsympathetic. He climbs into the front with Jihoon, Wonwoo drives and Mingyu and Vernon are relegated to the back of the van for now.

They drive in silence for five minutes before Mingyu and Vernon break out into song and everyone gets a terrible rendition of _‘the wheels on the bus’_ for ten minutes before Wonwoo loses his cool and threatens to drive the van over a cliff.

Seungcheol turns the radio on and Jihoon keeps an ear out when the news bulletin cuts in to cover highlights of the day.

The robbery in the bank is mentioned, but it mentions nothing about him being taken hostage, which is somewhat disheartening; surely someone would have noticed that he was missing?

* * *

There aren't too many drivers out at this hour, especially not in the middle of nowhere. It creates an eerie sensation where the road stretches and elongates, pushing insistently against the flat line of the goldening horizon.

The window beside Seungcheol has been cranked open, and Jihoon tilts his throat back, listening to the radio as the wind blows off the trees, heavy with the first hints of summer.

They drive for two hours before Mingyu’s whining in the backseat about motion sickness and the threat to hurl has Wonwoo pulling in at a roadside gas station.

“Five minutes. Buy your snacks, take a dump, do your business and back to the van.” Seungcheol orders sternly, then more quietly and politely. “Would you like to use the rest room Jihoon?”

Jihoon grumbles a yes, then grumbles a little more as Seungcheol leads him to the back of the gas station with a hand wrapped around his wrist. Then he grumbles at a slightly louder volume when Seungcheol opens the door for him and ushers him in with a chivalrous wave.

The gas station bathroom is not the absolute worst place Jihoon has ever pissed in, but it’s certainly on the list.

It’s small and cramped, insects swarming in a buzzing, fluttering haze round the bare bulb in the centre of the room.

There is one functioning cubicle with a missing toilet seat, undoubtedly brimming with STD’s.

The floor is covered in peeling lino, the better to hear the scuttle of the large and fearless cockroaches which make frequent exploratory forays into the rest room from their command centre in the hole in the wall. Seungcheol seems remarkably unfazed by them, though Jihoon notes how he almost reaches for his gun when one ventures too close—like he’s thinking about shooting it!

“Alright—do your business.” He motions for Jihoon, standing back with his arms crossed.

Jihoon gives him a sour sideways glance. “Uhm—I think I’m alright actually. I think I can hold it in.”

“They’re just bugs,” he says dismissively, kicking away a particularly intrepid surveyor making its way towards him.

“Of course,” Jihoon deadpans, unconvinced. He gestures at Seungcheol’s gun. “And that’s just a water pistol in your holster. I can wait till we—go wherever we’re going.”

“It’s almost a six hour drive—you sure you can hold it in?” Seungcheol says sensibly, and it's really not fair that Seungcheol is the one with the sensible tone of voice.

Jihoon huffs in resignation. He shouldn’t have had so many coffee refills. “Turn around.” He tells Seungcheol.

“What? So you can knock me out when my back is turned? I don’t think so.” Seungcheol says. He twirls his forefinger in an impatient little circle, a familiar invitation to get a fucking move on.

Jihoon manages, barely, to keep from rolling his eyes. “Knock you out with what? A giant fucking cockroach? My dick? There is nothing else here for me to use! Unless—you WANT to watch me piss? _Oh my god_ —you’re into golden showers aren’t you!” Jihoon says, putting just a little theatre into his tone.

Seungcheol’s eyes narrow in annoyance. For a moment, he looks like himself, dangerous and coolly irritated; Jihoon is oddly cheered by the sight. “I know you’re trying to make me feel embarrassed and give in—but it’s not going to work. I have nothing to be embarrassed about—you on the other hand—obviously have something to hide. I bet you’re one of those guys who needs to drop their pants completely to take a leak or something.”

“I haven’t had to do that since I was 5! I just can’t go under pressure.” Jihoon doesn’t bother to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

Seungcheol’s dimples flare in his cheeks, deep and dazzling. “Can’t perform under pressure? That’s good to know.”

“Can’t you just let me piss in peace!” Jihoon hisses.

Seungcheol stares at him for another long moment, before finally he says, shortly, “Fine.” He sounds enormously put out, as if Jihoon has requested something extremely disagreeable.

Maybe he does want to watch Jihoon piss.

* * *

When they start driving again, it’s a quiet interlude.

Everyone naps—even Wonwoo, who’s driving and has to be slapped awake by Jihoon as they begin to swerve off the road.

Seungcheol naps too, gradually slumping down in his seat until his head droops.

He’s got his left arm flung across the back of the seat, fingers curled around Jihoon’s shoulder.

Without thinking about it too much Jihoon reaches a hand out, touches the length of them, where the warmth from Seungcheol's palm is already seeping into his skin.

_WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?_

He screams at himself mentally, stretches his legs as much as he can in the footwell and rolls his neck.

He resettles a bare centimeter or two to the right, so that he can just feel the hard point of Seungcheol’s elbow grazing his forearm. Seungcheol shifts in his seat, entirely uncaring when his arm ends up slung over Jihoon’s leg, fingers folded in a delightfully friendly fashion across Jihoon's knee.

Jihoon tenses, then forces himself to relax. He stares at the hand on his knee for a moment, before his gaze travels up the arm across the shoulder to Seungcheol’s face. He’s not sleeping anymore, he’s watching Jihoon. His eyes are dark and intense, locked on Jihoon’s face

Jihoon quirks a wordless eyebrow that says _, ‘Hello? Your hand is on my knee? Care to move it?’_

Seungcheol just stares back at him for a moment, before his hand shifts—not away—but even _higher_ up his leg.

Jihoon gives a quiet little gasp at the bold move and raises an eyebrow at Seungcheol, as if to say _'really, really?'._

Seungcheol is either unaware of Jihoon's eyebrow language or he's choosing not to participate because it's beneath him.

Jihoon’s face feels hot, his heart is beating hard. He’s not sure where this is all coming from, but he’s not playing this game. No sir.

He crosses his arms and stares straight ahead out of the windscreen, resolute in his determination to not let Seungcheol’s big, warm, strong hand unsettle him. No matter how close it is to grazing his— _DAMMIT!_

Jihoon snaps his head to the side to quirk his eyebrow at Seungcheol so expressively, it takes every fucking muscle in his face to get his message, _‘Your hand—move it—now’_ across.

Seungcheol’s lifted eyebrow suggests: _‘I don’t know. Maybe I want it resting there. Problem?’_

Jihoon’s face goes slack for a moment. Then he raises an eyebrow, because he's still hoping for a little more here. A little hint that they're reading the same book, even if maybe they're not quite on the same page.

Seungcheol just waggles both eyebrows suggestively.

Jihoon’s brows raise half way up his head in a reply: _‘Well—this is a development I wasn’t expecting!’_

Seungcheol’s brows pinch together to add: _‘Really? You’re surprised? I thought we were on the same page? Have I miscalculated?’_

Jihoon’s brow furrows as if to say: _‘Gosh—I—I don’t know what to say. This is all happening so quickly and I can’t deny how hot you are.’_ Well, that’s at least what he’s thinking, he’s not entirely sure this eyebrow form of communication is something he can rely on.

Seungcheol curls his hand over Jihoon’s thigh, slips his fingertips in the gap between his legs, stroking lightly. Jihoon lets his legs fall open, so that his knee brushes Seungcheol’s.

His breath hitches as Seungcheol brushes his thumb up the seam and waits. Jihoon waits with him.

He can feel the heat of Seungcheol’s fingertips, the light pressure he’s applying. They’re sitting so close together; he can see the darkening of Seungcheol’s eyes. He can see the fine hairs on Seungcheol’s hands and neck, the faint blush of colour in his cheek. He studies the colour, wondering what to make of it.

The moment goes on until he realizes he’s aware of Seungcheol’s breathing, and that they’re sitting so still that Seungcheol must hear his too. Then it’s a moment held in suspension, the whole world gone vague around them. The world, which has reduced itself to Seungcheol’s warm fingertips laid lightly on Jihoon’s inner thigh, and the almost inaudible sounds of their breath, in tandem.

Seungcheol strokes his hand up, higher than before and Jihoon smacks it without even thinking about it.

 There's a long, tense pause.

But instead of doing something horrible and gruesome to him Seungcheol pulls his hand away, a curl of breath and amusement flaring across the side of Jihoon's neck which he immediately leans away from.

They go back to waging their silent eyebrow conversation until Wonwoo tells them to cut that shit out because he can see them in the mirror and its fucking distracting.

Around 5 o'clock, they stop at a McDonald's for food.

Everyone orders something categorically greasy.

Jihoon orders a coffee and, after staring at the menu plaintively, a salad.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes when he sees Jihoon's wilting lettuce come out in a box, but Jihoon shrugs.

Just because they're on the road with limited options doesn't mean he has to start eating junk all the time.

* * *

They stop for the night at a town so small that Jihoon doesn't even catch the name on the sign in the darkness.

There's one motel in the town, and Seungcheol gets out to pay for a room while Mingyu looks at Wonwoo and says, "Want to share? It's cheaper that way." And Wonwoo grumbles in agreement it seems.

Vernon snorts and winks at Jihoon, which startles him a little because he’s not sure if he’s become privy to some private joke or if Vernon is suggesting THEY share a room, or perhaps a bed. So he’s careful not to let any emotion show on his face until Seungcheol returns to the van with the room keys.

“We’ve got a problem.” Seungcheol announces, poking his head into the passenger side window of the van. “There are only three rooms available and they’re all king sized beds.”

Wonwoo rubs the space between his eyes and sighs, loudly.

“It’s cool, Me and Wonu were going to share anyway.” Mingyu announces.

“A ROOM! NOT A BED!” Wonwoo states in his outside voice. Vernon snorts again, and Seungcheol snorts twice as loud.

Jihoon thinks he should snort too, because everyone seems to be doing it and he would hate to be left out of the snorting game and become unpopular. He lets out a tiny snort, if somewhat belatedly and everyone bursts out laughing, except Wonwoo, who storms off in a huff with Mingyu in tow.

* * *

They don’t really discuss the sleeping arrangement amongst the remaining three, but Jihoon finds himself being led into a room by Seungcheol, and that seems to answer that.

Jihoon has a long list of complaints for the desk clerk – the room is cold, for a start, the old radiator wheezing under the window and dripping into a crude metal pan; and there’s scum in the bathroom sink that Jihoon doesn’t even want to think about – but he’s also incredibly exhausted, being unable to sleep on the trip.

He quickly changes into his sleep clothes in the bathroom and uses the complimentary motel amenities to prepare himself.

The toothpaste packaging is in some foreign language, Russian or Greek or what the fuck ever, so he might have just brushed his teeth with toilet cleaner for all he knows. But it’s minty fresh so it must be safe for human use.

When he steps out of the bathroom, Seungcheol is standing in front of the television, watching a global news briefs and partially blocking the view.

When he hears Jihoon walk up behind him, he picks up the remote and kills the television.

“I’m not going to restrain you to the bed tonight.” Seungcheol says, and Jihoon tries not to be disappointed by that.

“Oh? So, am I free to run away? Call the police or grab your gun in the middle of the night and take you hostage?” Jihoon says. Eyeing the locks on the motel door.

“Well, we’re miles away from the nearest police station, I’ve cut the phone line and I’ve dismantled my gun, so—good luck with that.” He looks at Jihoon challengingly.

“I could still creep out of the room in the middle of the night, run away or alert the motel staff.” Jihoon says, and he's hit the mark with this one, he can tell, because Seungcheol’s expression changes from amusement to discomfort.

“You _could._ That would be very bad though— _for you.”_ Seungcheol says, taking off his jacket. He smiles at Jihoon, though there are edges behind it. “Besides, I’m a light sleeper and perhaps you haven’t noticed yet, but I’ve hid your shoes and wallet.”

Jihoon glances around to find this is in fact, true. “You jerk!”

“I’m sorry. But, I do think it’s in your best interests to cooperate with me. Don’t draw attention and I’ll release you in a few days— _unharmed.”_ He puts deliberate emphasis on the last word.

Jihoon takes one look at the single, king-sized bed and declares, “So—uhhm. How are we going to do this.” He points back and forth between them, impatiently flicking his finger.

There is a single armchair in the room, perhaps they will take turns sleeping, or maybe Seungcheol will sit vigil all night.

“You’re going to sleep on the bed and—I’m going to sleep on the bed too.” Seungcheol delivers the line with a military-precise straight face.

Jihoon takes a moment to figure that out in his head.

He turns his head to look at Seungcheol, who just stares at him, pointedly.

Jihoon’s brain kick-starts into gear and he feels a sudden rush of adrenaline throughout his body.

_Oh._

He hasn't shared a bed with anyone since college. Even his romantic encounters since never stayed the night, which is rather telling now that he thinks about it – he hasn't had a real boyfriend or girlfriend, ever.

Despite the lack of human contact he’s had, he doesn’t like the idea of sleeping next to Seungcheol.

He’s very scared that he’ll roll over in his sleep and start dry humping the man, or beg him for a fuck honestly.

Upon reflection, he can’t believe that that hasn’t been his first response.

 _Jihoon, this is your quarter-life crisis,_ he thinks. “We’re _both_ sleeping on the bed— _together.”_ Jihoon says evenly.

Seungcheol pretends to ponder this notion. “It would seem so.”

“That’s very unorthodox.” Jihoon says truthfully, and Seungcheol's face breaks into a sly smile.

 _“Unorthodox?”_ Seungcheol says slowly, like he's tasting the word and how it was perhaps the wrong one to use.

Jihoon’s jaw tightens. “Yeah—as in—not the done thing.”

“What about any of the last two days have been— _orthodox_ to you?” Seungcheol asks, smiling so hard his dimples pop out. And yeah that's the 'I’m laughing at you' dimples rather than the ‘I’m laughing with you,' dimples.

Jihoon thinks about poking his dimples, decides it probably won't get him anything but Seungcheol's irritated fume-y silence.

Man, it's almost worth it.

Jihoon opens his mouth the say something, but then Seungcheol blinks, and looks away, his expression unsure and slightly mollified. “What do you suggest? Would you prefer I switched with Mingyu?” He offers, but there's a flare of irritated accusation there.

“Eww, no!” Jihoon gasps, because honestly that would be the _worst thing ever._

“Wonwoo then? He sleeps like fucking Dracula, like he’s in a coffin.” Seungcheol offers, but he looks squeamish about it, which, on any other day, would be hilarious.

“I’ll pass.” Jihoon says dryly.

Seungcheol nods his head slowly, contemplative. “So, Vernon then. I’ll have to warn you, he has night terrors.”

“Night terrors? You have personal experience with Vernon’s night terrors?” Jihoon asks.

The haunted expression pretty much confirms that 'yes' Seungcheol does. But when Jihoon raises an eyebrow in question the face Seungcheol makes says, in no uncertain terms, that he doesn't want to talk about it.

“It’s not you Seungcheol. I’d rather sleep next to you than—“ And suddenly his brain is insisting on changing the subject. Skidding away from whatever he was about to think, or say, and finding something else instead.

When it becomes apparent that Jihoon doesn't actually know what to say, Seungcheol, ever helpful, prompts him “What’s disturbing you? Is it the concept of sleeping next to guy? Or the concept of being the little spoon?” He asks frankly, and Jihoon can feel the heat at the back of his neck.

“Oh, fuck you! Just because I’m small doesn’t mean I’m always the little spoon.”

Seungcheol grunts and that's enough of a noise that Jihoon knows he doesn't believe him. “You know what—get in the bed, I’m going to spoon the hell out of you.” he blurts out, and immediately has a very strong impulse to crawl under the bed and die.

“ _You_ are going to _spoon_ me?” Seungcheol says. There's a curl of surprised approval in the deepness of his voice, not just approval, really not just approval. Which is disturbing in ways Jihoon doesn’t even have the brain power to process at the moment.

“Well, since you’re doubting my spooning abilities.” Jihoon gestures, some sort of awkward air hugging motion.

“I’m doubting your big spooning abilities, yes. You’re little spooning skill is no contest. I know you’ll make an excellent tiny spoon.” Seungcheol says. The amount of emphasis he puts on 'tiny' is completely unnecessary.

“Just get on the bed and get ready for a spooning.” Jihoon says, and there's far more air and bite there than he intends.

He politely averts his eyes as Seungcheol undresses, and turns around again as he sprawls backwards on the bed. He lies watching Jihoon, half-smiling. His boxers and t-shirt fit like a glove, and he looks gorgeous and infuriating and all too inviting. Jihoon's fingers twitch with the urge to kill something.

“Alright— _I’m waiting.”_ Seungcheol adds, tone low, like it's not just a throwaway cliché line, like he's giving Jihoon absolute permission.

Jihoon stomps over to the bed, and Seungcheol raises an inquisitive eyebrow at his fiercely determined look.

Jihoon dims the lights, sits on the far side of the bed and lies down, mentally psyching himself up for what comes next.

It’s dark now but his eyes have adjusted and he can see a bit. Enough to see Seungcheol’s expression, the glassy heat in his eyes and the wet shine of his lips. He lies looking, while Seungcheol breathes slowly. “Gonna spoon me from all the way over there are you?” Seungcheol tells him through a grin, and Jihoon knows that amusement is at his expense.

Jihoon has another dizzying moment of _'oh shit, what am I getting myself into?'_ but he's already stepped into the ring and gone all the rounds. Giving up one more inch shouldn't matter. Even though he's fairly sure he shouldn’t be trying to prove anything here and not spoon with his kidnapper in the first place. _That_ would be the sensible thing to do.

Nevertheless, he crosses the space between them and plasters his face against the middle of Seungcheol’s back, fingers unsure where to go, because Seungcheol is huge and Jihoon's experience with being the big spoon is mostly theoretical rather than practical. Is all theoretical, really. But this is about proving a point, or proving Seungcheol wrong at least, so he just finds a space for them somewhere around Seungcheol's chest area. Which is all heat, and firm muscle beneath the thin T-shirt.

“Now, this is what I call _unorthodox.”_ Seungcheol snarks, shifting his weight a little so Jihoon’s arm rests lower around his waist.

Jihoon rolls his eyes, which is a pretty pointless gesture when he's laying behind Seungcheol in the dark. “Hey—shut up. I’m doing the best I can here! You’ve got really—broad shoulders.” He defends. It’s safer not to say too much, he thinks. Instead he lays there and gazes at the back of Seungcheol’s neck, at the thin band of vulnerable skin between his hair and collar.

Jihoon spreads his fingers out flat on Seungcheol’s stomach and lies feeling it rise and fall. It’s a harmless, unfamiliar gesture, and doesn’t seem to call for any response. He closes his eyes and lets himself ponder the strangeness of the situation.

He realises he's been staring at Seungcheol’s unmoving shoulders for a while, but the silence from Seungcheol is...warmer, like maybe he's pleased. Jihoon isn't entirely sure how he's even getting that, because he's still looking at the back of the mans head, and can’t see his facial expression at all.

“Well? How are you feeling?” Jihoon asks tentatively.

“I’m feeling—sleepy.” Seungcheol offers slowly and uncertainly. Like he's truly bewildered by it.

Jihoon giggles in spite of himself. “Ahh—see. You’re sleepy because you feel safe and secure, content as the little spoon.”

“Perhaps. Or cause I’m tired and we’ve been in a cramped van for hours and I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Seungcheol grates out. Back tensing in irritated little twitches under Jihoon's cheek and chest.

“You almost fell asleep there—don’t lie. You love being a little spoon.” Jihoon snaps.

Seungcheol smiles tightly; Jihoon can see the movement in the side of his face. “I can hardly feel you behind me. I’m concerned about rolling over and crushing you actually.” He admits, and Jihoon glares at his ear.

“Is it so hard to admit that I’m a good big spoon?” Jihoon replies. He puts his hand on Seungcheol’s hip and snuggles closer.

Seungcheol huffs a soft breath of laughter. “I guess I’m just not used to this,” he says and then swallows, and it's sort of an incredible power trip to see the normally unflappable Seungcheol act nervous about anything. “I’m usually the big spoon and you’re very small—it’s like, a teaspoon trying to spoon with—“ He pauses, considering his choice of word.

“A serving spoon?” Jihoon suggests.

Seungcheol twists his head round far enough to look at him. “I was going to say shovel.”

“OUR SIZE DIFFERENCE IS NOT THAT HUGE!” Jihoon says, a fraction too loudly.

“My shirt reaches your knees.” Seungcheol's wry voice is muffled into the pillow.

Jihoon is very tempted to push him off the bed, very tempted, but he just grumbles instead.

The next ten minutes are increasingly frustrating.

Every word that comes out of Seungcheol mouth is a sideline innuendo, and when Jihoon finally has enough, untangles himself and rolls over to the far side of the bed, Seungcheol protests. “Hey—where are you going sweetpea?”

Jihoon gives him a hard look over his shoulder.

“To the other side of the bed, away from you and your fat ass and your insults.”

“Fat—“ Seungcheol pauses for just a second. His lips compress. “I didn’t insult you.” He speaks more quietly.

Jihoon twists to look over his shoulder, scowling easily. “You called me a tiny spoon. And you demonstrated a complete lack of faith in my big spooniness.”

There's a minute of huffy silence.

 “Fine. Goodnight.”

* * *

One in the morning is not a good time for introspective musings on the nature of his relationship with Seungcheol. However, one in the morning is all Jihoon's got so he's going to have to man up and deal.

Seungcheol's asleep on the other side of the bed, thrown out on his back like he got tired in the middle of making a snow angel.

Occasionally he mutters something about spiders and guns into the bend of his own arm and Jihoon's so very sure he doesn't want to know.

What he does know is, he's being deliberately obtuse.

He knows that Seungcheol is flirting with him, that this is the sort of casual interest that might lead to sweaty sex in a motel room or a quick grope in public toilet. However, if there is one trait that Jihoon has picked up since college, it's that he is cautious. He doesn't make the same mistakes twice. He’s been burned once, and Jihoon can forgive and forget it—forgive it the way anyone forgives stupid college romances, looked back upon with a blurry photographic ache –but he doesn't think he can forget Seungcheol if anything more happens between them.

So, until then, Jihoon prefers to keep things sweet and light. Skin-deep. Temporary.

Ergo his current moment of crisis.

So, yeah, he thinks maybe him and Seungcheol have a thing now.

They’ve practically showered together, even if Seungcheol was fully dressed; Seungcheol held his hand in the diner and caressed his thigh in the van. Now they’ve spooned in bed, not overly successful but it was spooning nonetheless.

There's a good chance there's going to be touching of a sexual nature at some point.

So, yeah, that's almost definitely a thing.

A thing.

Forgetting for a minute that Seungcheol is a thief, technically, and that he's a criminal. Forgetting also the fact that he's, as far as Jihoon knows, still in the process of kidnapping him.

Forgetting all of that very important stuff.

Jihoon's honestly debating whether to roll over and just straddle Seungcheol, when there's a quiet knock on the door. Seungcheol jolts up, instantly alert; he _really_ is a light sleeper.

Normally he would be a little more cautious about strange knocks on his motel rooms, but the knock sounds sort of shy and apologetic.

"Guys," Vernon says quietly from the other side of the door.

Seungcheol frowns, and rolls over.  He kicks his way free of the sheets, stumbling up and across the carpet, and snatches for the handle.

Vernon is standing in the doorway like some sort of gloomy bedraggled thing, and Jihoon's not sure he's ever seen a grown man look more pathetic. “Jesus fucking Christ, Vernon. It’s 1 am.” Seungcheol snaps.

“I’m sorry—I just couldn’t sleep.” Vernon murmurs, sounding bleak.

“What’s wrong?” Seungcheol asks, voice much softer now.

“I—I had a bad dream.” He sounds like he's trying not to be upset about it.

Seungcheol makes a noise that's half laughter and half interest and Jihoon finds himself saying “Awww.” before he can stop himself.

“Can I sleep with you guys tonight?” Vernon says carefully, hopefully.

Seungcheol’s expression is a complicated mess, like he's not entirely sure whether to be amused or horrified, or some sort of entertaining mixture of the two.

“Alright, come in.” Jihoon says simply and when Seungcheol doesn't protest or physically bar him from entering, Vernon trudges his way past, and instead of sulking over to the armchair, he stands at Jihoon’s side of the bed, like he expects Jihoon to scoot over.

Then he says as much. “Scoot over Jihoon.”

Jihoon flails on the bed, tossing the sheets around like they’re a living, breathing entity that’s trying to suffocate him. “What is this—a hostage sandwich!” He states incredulously, because spooning with strangers is one thing, but getting sandwiched between two men: this is weirder than usual for him.

He scoots over into the centre of the bed anyway, but he’s not happy about it and directs his glare at the hideously stained ceiling.

How do coffee stains even get on the ceiling in the first place?

Seungcheol clearly decided on finding the whole thing hilarious, because he snorts laughter. “You’re the sandwich filling Sweetpea, me and Vernon are the bread.” He says, then him and Vernon actually high five each other, and that's completely and utterly wrong, in his motel room in the middle of the night, when Jihoon's not really wearing very much.

Jihoon scowls and stares at the ceiling some more, which really is horrendously ugly. “I want nothing to do with either of you or your sordid little picnic!”

The lights go out again and there is some awkward shuffling where Jihoon gets elbowed a lot, before Seungcheol yanks the sheets up to cover them.

“Thanks guys. I appreciate this.” Vernon’s voice is a happy whisper in the dark.

Seungcheol yawns, releasing an impressive crack from his jaw. “Don’t make a habit out of it. You need to learn to sleep in your own hotel room even if you have bad dreams Vernon. You’re a big man now.”

“I know.” Vernon sulks.

Jihoon gives up on being angry about this ridiculous sleeping arrangement and pats him on the back reassuringly. “Tell us all about your dream.”

“NO, please don’t.” Seungcheol says quickly but Vernon starts talking over him.

“So there I was, sleeping in my room, then I woke up because I heard the sound of a child laughing.”

“Creepy.” Jihoon concludes almost immediately.

“I’ve heard enough.” Seungcheol groans, covering his hands over his face.

Vernon continues anyway. “I couldn’t see anything in my room, but then I looked outside my window and there was a clown with a big red balloon—and a headless chicken.” Vernon frowns at that sentence, like it sounded less confusing in his head.

“He started banging on the window, trying to get in! I tried to shout for help, but my mouth was sewn shut. I tried to call the police, but the phone line was cut! The banging was getting louder and louder! I crawled under the bed to hide, just as he smashed through the door. He crept around the foot of the bed and I closed my eyes,” Vernon says, and the more he says the tighter that note of tension in his voice gets. “When I opened them—there was a little boy looking back at me instead of the clown. He laughed at me and then he ran away. I realised— _I was that little boy!_ I climbed out from under the bed and everything was back to normal. I got back into bed and started feeling sleepy—but then—I opened my eyes and THE CLOWN WAS HOVERING OVER ME!”

“AHHHHH.” They all screech together, even Vernon who is telling the damn story and shouldn’t be surprised by its horrific climax.

Jihoon’s scream is abruptly muffled by a hand clamping over his mouth and Seungcheol shushing him, as if he hadn’t been screaming too.

There is a moment of silence as everyone catches their breaths.

“Anyway, I feel so much better now that I’ve shared it with you guys. Goodnight.” Vernon chirps, then promptly falls asleep. The bastard.

Jihoon stares wide eyed and terrified at the ceiling, annoyingly alert and paranoid. When he chances a glance over at Seungcheol, the other man shrugs in a perfectly readable 'holy shit,' kind of way.

“I’m never going to sleep again. I might never have children either—or eat chicken.” Jihoon whispers. Because, yeah, there's no way he's ever forgetting that. There's nothing that cuts through the welcoming lull of sleep like a freakin' clown nightmare.

Seungcheol props himself on an elbow and looks down on him. “Tell me about it.”  He grumbles. “What did I tell you—night terrors.”

Jihoon hums in agreement, turning away from Seungcheol.

There’s a good few inches between them on the bed but Jihoon can practically feel the heat radiating off Seungcheol’s body.

He closes his eyes and tries to relax, to slow his breathing, but he can feel it all the way under his skin, the steadily growing tension. The slide and catch of Seungcheol’s fingers where they've lifted to find Jihoon's back, thumb skidding, almost accidentally, over the curve of his butt.

He tightens his fists in the bedsheets as he feels the bed dip behind him, Seungcheol moving closer, closing the minimal space between them. Jihoon wants so badly to roll back against him. He'd gotten so used to the fact that he shouldn’t, and now it's hard to swallow around the thudding of his own pulse.

 “You know what might make you feel better?” Seungcheol speaks up suddenly, tone full of improper suggestion.  

Jihoon can feel Seungcheol’s breath fanning against his nape. It’s a surprisingly pleasant feeling. He turns his head and looks back.

“What?” He whispers.

Seungcheol shifts closer still, unfolds one arm and extends it to hover around Jihoon’s waist. He holds his hand palm-up, as if asking for something.

“Don’t be shy Sweetpea,” Seungcheol says, with a half-smile. “You spooned me, it’s only fair I get to spoon you.”

Jihoon considers it for a moment, then scoots back a fraction.

Seungcheol does lay his hands on him then, firmer than before, pulling in a way that he's not going to feel guilty about. Jihoon's lets him, with only the briefest huff of amusement.

“Is this some strange criminal law you live your life by,” Jihoon says. “Kidnapping people, then spooning them.” He keeps his tone light, although his heart has kicked up a notch.

Seungcheol is laughing, he can feel it, the slow steady vibration of it. “Honestly, no. You’re just—very spoonable.” He says, fingers closing around Jihoon’s hip, gently but firmly. His hand is warm. He tugs Jihoon back and then there's a knee, pushing between his thighs. Jihoon can feel the way his heel drags on Seungcheol’s calf, the way Seungcheol's breath flares over the line of his throat.

Jihoon's shaking, just a little, which is embarrassing and a little confusing. But Seungcheol's fingers are finding all the places where he didn't even know he was sensitive, thumbs curling and pressing in where his hipbones are close under the skin.

“And kidnappable, apparently.” Jihoon murmurs, more lazily amused than scandalised.

Seungcheol tugs again, pulling Jihoon’s back against his chest. His smile is quirking up at the corner, a dimple starting in his cheek. “Come here tiny spoon.” he says, easing a leg over Jihoon’s, entangling them even more.

Jihoon resists the urge to scoot his ass back against Seungcheol’s crotch for a good fifteen seconds. Then just gives in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) No Jam unit are my favourite.  
> 2) Jihoon is either the worst, or best hostage ever, depends how you look at it. :D  
> 3) I hope nobody is taking the plot super seriously, this story isn't going to be Check Engine dark emotional or anything....I do realise how ridiculous it is. XD  
> 4) I love the image of Jihoon, trying to be the bigger spoon. I don;t know why but it makes me smile. I can imagine Seungcheol being...reluctantly charmed by the whole thing XD


	5. Arrears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pie.....

The first thing that blurrily comes into focus for Jihoon, is Vernon. He’s staring at him, wide eyed and a little terrified; an expression on his face that perhaps says: _What the hell are you doing in my bed?_

Jihoon wants to remind him that _he_ was the one who had the terrifying clown nightmare and asked to sleep next to them, so _he_ really shouldn’t be surprised. But just as he opens his mouth to speak, there's a sigh against his neck and a hand slips under his shirt, smoothing over the taut muscle of his stomach.

Seungcheol’s hand.

He forgot about the whole spooning thing. He forgot that there was a third person in the bed to catch them in the act.

Now he realises Vernon’s expression is more likely to be: _WHAT THE FUCK!_

Jihoon smiles sheepishly, and Vernon clearly doesn't know whether to be amused or horrified. His face seems to be trying to do both, like he’s walked in on his parents having sex and his life is flashing before his eyes. And Jihoon wants to assure him, to tell him they haven’t, but he can’t string enough words together right now because he’s pretty sure Seungcheol’s cock is sprung, pushing against the cleft of his butt.

Though he'd have to wiggle his butt to find out for sure, and laying very still is the only sort of self-preservation he can think of at the moment.

He's not sure how long he thinks that will work for.

“Did you—uhm—sleep well?” Vernon asks, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Yeah. I mean—okay-ish?” Jihoon croaks.

It’s all lazy, comfortable, and _terrifying,_ the way Seungcheol’s breath is hot against his neck, the way his legs are tangled between Jihoon’s. Seungcheol's fingers are spread low on his stomach, fingernails scraping lightly, in a way that slams straight through him. Teasing at the waistband of his boxers.

Jihoon's face is probably an awesome shade of red right now. But he thinks if he just pushes up and slides forward, he can probably manage to - Jihoon gets as far as pushing up, and there's a whole redistribution of weight thing and—YUP—Seungcheol has a raging boner alright. His dick feels huge against Jihoon’s back, a solid line of foreign heat that makes his chest go tight, and his own dick twitching in response.

He pinches the bridge of his nose at the same time Seungcheol starts rubbing his stomach in slow circles. It feels instinctual, important, and it does something to Jihoon’s insides.

He tries to pull Seungcheol’s arm out from under his shirt, but the guy just won’t budge. He stirs a little when Jihoon’s tries to extricate himself, mumbles something too sleep-raspy to be intelligible, and then rolls his crotch against Jihoon’s ass and that’s all the convincing Vernon needs.

“I should go back to my own room!” says Vernon, blandly, and swings himself out of bed.

“Yes, you should definitely do that!” says Jihoon, perhaps a bit more harshly than normal.

There's no reply but the soft click of the bedroom door behind Vernon.

Of bloody fucking course, Seungcheol chooses this precise moment to rouse, letting out a sleepy mutter as his leg shifts forward slightly, knee knocking into Jihoon’s thigh. His fingers twitch on Jihoon’s side, curling against his ribs.

“Seungcheol.” Jihoon rasps, sounding resigned.

Nothing.

“Seungcheol!” He says a little louder.

It’s not a question, but Seungcheol grunts in the affirmative.

Jihoon tries to move away but Seungcheol gives an annoyed little huff and pulls him in tighter.

“Seungcheol—wake up!”

Seungcheol sighs heavily, a rush of hot breath ruffling Jihoon’s hair. “What?” he mumbles, bleary but decisive.

“Will you unhand me please?” Jihoon whispers.

Seungcheol snuggles closer, tracing his fingertips up Jihoon’s arm. “Hmm—where’s Vernon?”

“Gone. He saw us spooning and it was awkward as fuck. So, he left.” Jihoon says through his teeth.

There's a soft, vibrating curl of laughter against his back. “Ok. Good, then we can go back to sleep.” says Seungcheol, spooned up behind Jihoon. He goes directly back to nuzzling at Jihoon earlobe.

“No, we can’t. You’ve got a pressing issue you should probably take care of.” Jihoon says, jerking his hips back into Seungcheol’s crotch pointedly.

Seungcheol’s fingers twitch against his chest. “Huh? Oh— _that.”_ Seungcheol’s voice has gone quiet. A pointed sort of quiet. And just like that all the air falls out of Jihoon and something shifts imperceptibly.

“Yes—so—uhm—you can let me go now.” He says carefully. He's staring at the ceiling. Possibly because he's afraid to look anywhere else.

That's pretty much ruined when a warm hand grips his jaw and turns it sideways - and then he's looking into the very amused eyes of Seungcheol.

“Why would I do that?” He says, perfectly tranquil even though his erection is pressing insistently against Jihoon’s ass.

Jihoon swallows, his mouth suddenly dry as he looks up into Seungcheol’s still smiling dark brown eyes. “Why! Why? Because your morning wood is knocking on my back door.” He waves a hand, desperately.

“Yeah, so? You don’t mind.” Seungcheol grins, kneading at his ribs with his knuckles. Jihoon squirms away, elbowing him lightly.

“I do too mind!”

Seungcheol cranes his head to look over at him. He smiles brilliantly, baring his white teeth “Really? Hmm—You didn’t seem to have a problem with my dick last night, when you were moaning in your sleep about it.”

“Wh- _what?”_ Jihoon chokes, clamping his fingers round the bed sheet, until he can't feel them any more.

His heart starts slamming in his chest like it thinks he might need all of the blood in his body all at once - because oh shit, he had a sexy dream about Seungcheol and Seungcheol knows about it? He makes some sort of awful, choking noise.

“Last night, I was just drifting off to sleep when you said my name. I thought you were asking for something, but when I turned the light on, you—seemed excited about something. _Very_ excited actually— _if you know what I mean.”_ Seungcheol whispers, low and flirty.

Jihoon bites down on that horrible feeling of exposure, that spike right where it hurts. “I was—I was dreaming of Gwen Stefani.”

Seungcheol makes an 'mm' sound and Jihoon looks over at him. He seems deep in thought for a second and then he’s back to grinning over Jihoon’s shoulder “Oh? Well, unless her name is Seungcheol or _Captain Thick_ , I think you’re telling a little lie Sweetpea.” He says, waggling a finger at him.

Jihoon’s body seems to think arousal is the necessary response right about now, and immediately floods his system full of stupidly unhelpful lust.

He tells his body to calm the fuck down before his dick starts twitching and leaking in his boxer shorts. Which will be embarrassing and completely unhelpful.

“I didn’t—I—no.” Jihoon fumbles. Seungcheol is leaning over him now. Jihoon runs a hand through his hair, groaning. “Oh god, no!”

Seungcheol chuckles darkly. “Close—but actually you were saying-- _Ohh—God! SEUNGCHEOL! YES!”_

The noise Jihoon makes when he tries to flail himself upright is not in any way hysterical, no matter what evidence exists to the contrary.

He manages to free himself slightly and shove Seungcheol off, scrambling free from the bed, moving to the bathroom before Seungcheol can so much as blink at him. He's running, and he's not ashamed about it.

Seungcheol’s cursing is loud from where he’s hanging off the edge of the bed, but he manages to compose himself enough to call out.

“Jihoon! Wait!”

Jihoon slams the bathroom door shut and locks it, stumbling backwards until his knees hit the toilet basin.

He’s so embarrassed.

There's a horrible, sick, lurching feeling inside him that he's pretty sure is a combination of panic and horror.

He thinks he might be on the verge of some sort of angry, panic attack. He doesn't know if you can have an angry panic attack. Where you feel this kind of sick worry, and this wounded anger all at the same time.

He expects to hear Seungcheol laughing on the other side of the door, or maybe even kick the door open and point and laugh.

He stares at bathroom door, watching the minutes tick by with agonizing slowness as absolutely nothing happens.

This is bad, this is very, very bad.

He shouldn’t have spooned with Seungcheol.

Why does he let his brain talk him into things?

This is why he has unattainable crushes from a distance.

After about ten minutes he’s resigned himself to living in shame and mortification. He’s going to get up right now and get dressed, gather his things and walk out of here with the last tattered shreds of his dignity.

Just as he’s about to reach for the handle, there is a quiet knock on the door, startling him. “Hey, Listen. We need to go. We kinda slept in and need to check out of the motel.” Seungcheol murmurs.

* * *

Seungcheol has mercifully vacated the room by the time Jihoon emerges from the bathroom, so he can dress in peace and quiet humiliation.

He doesn’t acknowledge Seungcheol when he pulls the motel door open to find him standing outside, leaning against the wall waiting for him. He avoids eye contact as they trudge down the stairs to the reception desk to hand in their keys.

He doesn’t call shotgun when they begin to file into the van either, choosing to slump in the back with Vernon instead. who starts snoring as soon as they exit the carpark.

* * *

They stop for lunch at a diner on the road, the glossy windows promise burgers, fries and an unnecessary number of delicious homemade pie flavours. Jihoon is more than happy to take them up on their offer, because he skipped breakfast.

When they file out of the van, Wonwoo and Mingyu hang around for a smoke while Seungcheol, Vernon and himself head in for some refreshments.

They shuffle into the booth, sit down, Vernon takes one look at the menu and declares. “You know what, I’m not hungry enough.” Then disappears like his ass is on fire.

Perhaps he’s afraid he’ll look up from his menu to find them spooning again or something.

So now it’s just him and Seungcheol in the diner. Just the two of them. Alone. Fuck!

He kind of wants to laugh and throw up at the same time because he’s been dreading the stilted, awkward conversation they are bound to have when they’re alone for long enough.

At this point Jihoon is desperate for a polite _'I’m flattered—but, no thanks,'_ or even some sort of mocking _'seriously, I’m out of your league'_ So he can feel brief, terrible embarrassment, and they can all pretend this never happened and get on with their lives.

But Seungcheol just picks up a menu and starts perusing the options and Jihoon has no choice but to do the same.

Things are fine until they order.

“I’ll have a slice of the apple pie please, and coffee.” he spits out, slightly too fast. He may also be trying so hard for relaxed nonchalance that he's about to slip sideways off his chair.

“Good choice. I’ll have the Pecan pie and coffee too.” Seungcheol says, snapping his menu shut.

Then suddenly Jihoon finds himself staring at Seungcheol without a clue what to say or do.

Seungcheol seems to be in the same predicament.

They look at one another, and then back down again. Jihoon stops and starts a conversation a million times, before settling on. “Seen any good movies lately?”

“Nah. Been ages since I’ve seen a film. You?”

“Not really.”

 _Well, that killed about five seconds_ , Jihoon thinks.

Jihoon puts a hand out to pick up a spoon from the cutlery tray, at the same time as Seungcheol and Jihoon ends up with his hand laid over Seungcheol's, fingers settling against the pulse in his wrist. Jihoon isn't moving his own off of it, he's just blinking stupidly at it, wondering if he should put pressure on it, or curl his fingers around it, or something?

Until Seungcheol pulls his hand back and reaches for another spoon instead, then frowns at the spoon he's still holding with an intensity that it probably doesn't deserve.

Jihoon is left staring at his hand, mouth dry, heartbeat running like someone poked it with a sharp stick.

So that was awkward.

Jihoon suspects it’s going to be super awkward from now on.

Do the others sense the awkwardness?

Is that why they’re not coming into the diner?

Did Vernon tell them about the spooning and are they outside right now laughing and high fiving each other?

_Those jerks!_

The silence is stifling, filled with sips of table water and the sound of glasses.

Finally, Seungcheol laughs. “This is ridiculous.”

Jihoon sighs, feeling about ten pounds lighter.  “Okay. So, maybe I did have a dream about you. _Big whoop._ I’m sure lots of people have dreams about you when they first meet you. I mean—look at you. You’re attractive, in a dangerous kind of way. Not that I’m attracted to danger or anything, it’s probably just the adrenaline wearing off from the whole kidnapping thing. And people do get attracted to their kidnappers. Hello—Stockholm syndrome! And yeah, it’s only been like two days and _that_ developed really quickly, but it _is_ possible. Not that I’m saying I’m _attracted_ to you—because I’m not. I just had a dream about you, and maybe I said a few things, and maybe I moaned a little. But I also had a dream that I was eating a bottomless jar of peanut butter once, that doesn’t mean I like peanut butter, it doesn’t mean that I’m _attracted_ to peanut butter. I barely tolerate peanut butter actually. I don’t mind peanut butter _flavoured_ things, but actual peanut butter is hella dry, and I would never eat it straight out of a jar. Anyway. What I’m trying to say is—just because I had a sexual dream about you, doesn’t mean we’re going to have sex so let’s just forget all about it.”

Jihoon is saved from his own terrifying verbal landslide when a waitress places two slices of pie on the table, sliding one over to Jihoon and one to Seungcheol, and Seungcheol gets a smile with his slice of pie that - honestly, she might as well just pour herself into his lap while she's at it.

Jihoon had pretty much assumed that everyone who's ever met Seungcheol has a weird crush on him, because he's  _Seungcheol_.

Seungcheol’s not looking at her though. He's staring at Jihoon, it's not a scary look but it is sort of intense, and Jihoon thinks he's said the wrong thing. “I can’t forget about it.”

“Uhmm—why the hell not?” Jihoon replies, feigning nonchalance even though his heart is pounding triple time.

Seungcheol sighs heavily, “Before you ran away and hid in the bathroom-“

“I didn’t run away!” Jihoon interrupts defensively.

Seungcheol stills, eyes cutting up to meet Jihoon’s gaze head-on. “You ran away and slammed the door in my face.”

Jihoon winces. “I needed to piss.”

Seungcheol smiles, but it’s not malicious. “You were hiding from me Sweetpea.”

The endearment makes his jaw tighten. “You were making fun of me you dick!” He spits.

Seungcheol’s eyebrows curve down in offence. “I wasn’t—, “ He begins, then turns silent again, but there's a tension to his face, hands restless on the table, like he's trying to think of something to say. It looks like it hurts. “I may have had the misguided notion that making a joke out of it might ease the tension, but before you ran into the bathroom I was trying to tell you-“

“Wonwoo—punched me.” Mingyu suddenly interjects, appearing at the foot of the table. His left cheek is swollen and a black eye is rapidly forming.

“What?” They both say, surprised at his interruption.

“I said, Wonwoo punched me. _In the face_.” Mingyu repeats, then pouts; his lower lip trembling.

See, this is precisely why Jihoon doesn't spend time with kids.

Seungcheol’s gaze slowly shifts from Mingyu, over to Jihoon. “I see, well—do you want to handle this.” He tells Jihoon, jerking a thumb at Mingyu.

Jihoon finds himself oddly put out. “Me?!”

“Yeah. We gotta work as a team Jihoon. A united front. And you seem like the more reasonable and level headed one. I probably would punch Mingyu too, so I shouldn’t handle this.” Seungcheol says, and that's so ridiculous that Jihoon thinks he may just have to turn bright red and scream about it.

He's starting to feel like the parent and seriously, fuck that.

He will sign up for the weird family like road-trip and arguments about what to watch on TV, and the occasional clown nightmare. But he's damned if he's going to bake cakes and set curfews and sort out everyone's squabbles, especially not without getting laid at some point. But then Mingyu starts sniffling. Honest to god— _sniffling._

“Okay, okay—don’t cry. Sit down you giant man.” Jihoon coos, patting the seat next to him.

He slings an arm over Mingyu’s huge shoulders and pats consolingly. “It’s okay. Shush now. Tell me, why did Wonwoo punch you?”

“I don’t know.” Mingyu says, throwing his arms up in a shrug that's so big it looks like he's trying to fly. “He just punched me.”

Jihoon tilts his head thoughtfully. “Well, what did you do to make him angry?”

Mingyu stops pouting at once. "Nuffink," he mutters, with shifty eyes.

 _“Nuffink?”_ Jihoon snaps, trying to ignore the bastardization of the word and the way Seungcheol is shaking with silent laughter across the table from him.

“Yeah, I didn’t do nuffink.” Mingyu repeats, but in a clearer voice and meeting Jihoon’s eye.

Jihoon gives him a suspicious, squinty eyed look. “Hmm—Wonwoo seems pretty laid back normally. He only gets pissed off around _you_ —and usually you’re doing things that annoy _everyone._ So, you must have done _somefink_ to irritate him.”

“I didn’t do anyfink.” Mingyu says quietly, he sounds genuinely upset by the suggestion.

“Maybe you should take a minute and think about what you could have possibly done to annoy him. Then when you know what it is, you can go apologise.” Jihoon says, patting him on the shoulder again.

Mingyu slumps down into the seat and crosses his arms, staring at the table like he blames it for everything. “Now, now. Don’t huff with me young man. I want you to think long and hard— _which I appreciate is difficult for you._ And I’m sure you’ll come up with a reason and a proper apology and then you can have a slice of pie for being a good man-boy.” Jihoon says patting him on the head, his smile a mile wide.

Mingyu grunts in a way that says he's not going to argue with that.

“Something funny Seungcheol?” Jihoon says, tilting his head when he catches Seungcheol staring at him once more with a rueful smile on his face.

Seungcheol shrugs his shoulders. “No, nothing. Just— _impressive_ —is all.”

Jihoon sighs and turns back to face him fully. “Uhm, so—what were we talking about? You were about to say something.”

“Uhmm—yeah.” Seungcheol hesitates, giving him that look, that strange calm but expectant look, like he's on the verge of saying something important. But he isn't sure if now is a good time. He clears his throat and then says. “Can I eat your pie?”

Jihoon’s gaze shifts to Seungcheol’s empty plate.

The guy has a suspiciously noticeable slut-on for pie and has wiped his plate clean. He has a chocolate smear on his chin, which should not be as attractive as it is, but Jihoon's always had an unholy weakness for hot guys covered in chocolate. “Seriously? You just ate a whole slice to yourself and now you want mine too?” Jihoon grumbles

“Yes Jihoon, I _want_ to eat your _pie.”_ Seungcheol’s words are short, clipped, and fast, like he’s been rehearsing them in his head and he just wants them out and over with.

If Jihoon were thinking clearly, he’d probably have figured out what Seungcheol was talking about. Instead, he merely says, “Fine, have at it.” As he slides the plate across the table.

“Okay. Thanks.” Seungcheol says. Then, instead of pulling the plate towards him, he seems somehow to deflate. His shoulders drop and he turns his head away.

Jihoon blinks in confusion for a quick moment.

 _What the hell? The guy said he wanted my pie and I said fine, what’s his problem—OH—OH! My pie…._ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

There's plenty of ways to misinterpret that.

He figures he has to have gotten this wrong, he's jumped to the wrong conclusion, and it really wouldn't be the first time he's done that.

Maybe Seungcheol was just having him on?

Maybe Seungcheol really just wants an extra slice of pie?

Jihoon finds himself trying to think of what else he could mean, until he has no choice but to accept that Seungcheol must mean exactly what he thinks it means. ……..( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°).

He reaches over and slowly pulls the plate back towards himself. “Wait—are you saying, you’re hungry for my pie?” he gasps, shocked that they’re having this conversation –especially in front of Mingyu, who’s still staring at the table like it’s explaining complex algebra to him.

Jihoon watches as the hard line of Seungcheol’s mouth morphs into a grin for a second, and then it’s gone just as quickly. “Yes, yes I am.”

Jihoon’s still trying to process this when Seungcheol goes on. “I’ve been thinking about your pie a lot. Maybe dreamt about it even. But if you don’t want me to have it—I understand.”

Jihoon stares at him in disbelief because Seungcheol is a thief and an inveterate liar and he doesn't have much stock in God. But when he decides that maybe Seungcheol _isn't_ lying after all, a warm pleasure spreads through his chest.

“How can you be sure we like the same flavour of pie? I mean—what if my pie is not satisfying enough for you?” Jihoon asks, because this is important, in a way that's ever so slightly terrifying. There is no margin for error here.

“Jihoon—I’m more than 100% certain we like the same flavour of pie. Your pie looks plenty satisfying.” Seungcheol says, still smiling but his eyes are laced with intent now.

Jihoon’s not sure what to do with that. He realises he's been holding his breath for almost a minute, heartbeat slowly climbing.

“How do you know? You haven’t seen the inside of my pie. Have you—have you been sneaking glances at my pie while I wasn’t looking?” He gasps.

Seungcheol’s eyes shift guiltily away. _“Maybe.”_ He drawls.

Jihoon sits back, his hands dangling loose over the chair’s arms. A slight, disbelieving smile on his lips. “And—you _liked_ the look of it?” He questions, because giving in to any kind of offer too soon was just poor form. Even if it was an offer from Seungcheol, who’s obviously the kind of guy who could sell a map to a salmon.

Seungcheol makes a filthy sound of approval. “Oh yes.”

Jihoon can feel the heat in his cheeks and quickly lowers his gaze. “Well—just so you know. My pie isn’t exactly fresh, it’s been reheated a few times so it’s a little dry. But not like _so_ dry that it’s super flakey or crusty or anything.” He explains offhandedly, staring into his coffee.

He really wishes his brain hadn't just phrased it like that because Seungcheol is now looking at him like he’s speaking another language.

He’s lost track of the conversation at some point and the pie euphemisms have thrown him off kilter. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

Jihoon looks away, face burning, body fraught with tension; admitting he hasn’t slept with anyone in a while is causing the back of his neck to sweat. “What I mean is—I haven’t had my pie eaten in some time. My pie in an _acquired_ taste apparently. People don’t usually come back for seconds.” Jihoon grumbles. He knows he sounds bitter, and hates himself for it.

Seungcheol nods, like he understands perfectly now. “I can’t speak for them. I can only speak for myself and—I’ve wanted your pie from the moment I saw it.” He says and Jihoon is a little bit floored by that simple admission, because, yeah, that doesn't happen to him a lot.

He looks up at Seungcheol, whose smile is soft and friendly and he can’t help but blush and smile back sheepishly. “How badly do you want it?”

“That depends, how _badly_ do you want me to _eat_ your pie?” Seungcheol says. His eyes are lit with humour, a glazed and heavy look that makes Jihoon think wonderfully impure things.

Jihoon looks away, his heart racing. This is really happening he thinks. The promise of sex hangs heavily in the air between them. “I think you already know the answer to that Seungcheol. Pretty badly actually. I want you to _demolish_ my pie.”

It’s a small pleasure to see Seungcheol’s cavalier demeanour crack under that bombshell. “Demolish it! Really!” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon allows a secret smile, eyes downcast toward the table. “Yes, are you capable of doing that?”

“I am _definitely_ capable of that.” Seungcheol says. There isn't even a pause. He doesn't even have to think about it. “But I--” He falters when Jihoon blinks at him, utterly confused.

“But?” Jihoon intones, raising an eyebrow.

“But—I _could_ demolish you pie, like you want. It’s just—I was hoping to take my time with your pie. Eat is slowly— _savour_ it. Extra whipped cream and maybe some toppings too.” Seungcheol says grandly, making a show of leaning across and brushing his hand over Jihoon’s where he’s still holding on to the side of his plate.

Jihoon’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, but he recovers quickly. He worries his lip nervously, but he’s still so delighted he’s finding Seungcheol’s show of seduction ridiculously endearing.

He gives Seungcheol a sceptical look and is proud to note Seungcheol’s cheeks are pinker than before. “You don’t seem like that kinda guy.”

Seungcheol looks offended by all the surprise. He seems to be taking Jihoon's disbelief as some sort of personal insult. “I _can_ be that guy. I’m usually not, if I’m being honest. But when I saw your pie, I knew I would enjoy taking my sweet time with it.”

Jihoon leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Interesting. But—what if I just want you to ravish my pie?”

“I can do that too.” Seungcheol says. He leans over in his chair, toward Jihoon. “I can _obliterate_ your pie—wreck it so that nobody else would want the leftovers. If that’s what you want—but, I’m trying to make this satisfying for the both of us.” Seungcheol’s eyes are sincere and his voice more tentative than Jihoon’s ever encountered.

“Oh.” There’s so much he could say. He quirks an eyebrow, then leans in. “That, also—doesn’t seem like you at all.”

Seungcheol’s face scrunches up a little. “What kind of guy do you take me for? A pie eating, psychopath who just takes all the pie he wants and heaves crumbs all over the fucking plate?” He says defensively.

Jihoon feels something like relief rush through him and steels himself against it. “I guess I don’t know you very well.”

“Yeah— _you don’t.”_ Seungcheol tosses back. His face has gone tight, his lips pinching together and his eyes going hard.  “You shouldn’t just assume I’m going to destroy your pie and leave you with the bill. Maybe you’re used to that with other guys, but I’m not like that. I will cherish your pie Jihoon.” Seungcheol replies, looking at Jihoon with a deathly serious expression.

“I’m sorry, I did assume.”

Seungcheol makes a dismissive sound. “It’s okay. Yanno—maybe I want you to eat my pie too. I like to switch it up. I eat your pie, you eat mine. I don’t want to be the only one eating pie here, I’m not fucking greedy.”

“But you’ve eaten all your pie Seungcheol Hyung, your plate’s empty.” Mingyu points out.

“Silence Mingyu—the adults are talking now.” Seungcheol dismisses sharply, and Jihoon suddenly remembers there is a third person at the table watching them have an animated discussion about pie.

“Whaddya say Jihoon? Will you let me eat your pie?” Seungcheol says, wearing a conspiratorial little smirk. It takes ten years off his face, and against his better judgment, Jihoon finds himself grinning back.

“Yeah—that sounds great.”

“Can I eat your pie too?” Mingyu pipes in, destroying the moment.

“No! No pie for you!” Jihoon snaps.

Seungcheol coughs and clears his throat. “I think he means—“ He mumbles, nodding towards the slice of pie sitting neglected in the centre of the table.

“Oh that. Oh yes—you guys can share my slice of pie.” Jihoon says, sliding the plate over.

“Great. All this talk about pie was making me hungry and your pie looks amazing Jihoon. Can’t wait to get it in my mouth.” Mingyu replies, grinning gleefully as he pulls the plate towards him.

Seungcheol gives him a sharp look at his choice of phrasing. “You know what. **No.** I asked first—fuck off Mingyu.” He mutters, his face twisted in distaste.

Mingyu looks at him in surprise as he drags the plate away from him and digs his spoon in.

There is an awkward pause, in which Jihoon feels the strange urge to break down laughing at the entirely too self-satisfied expression on Seungcheol’s face as he starts stuffing spoonfuls of pie into his gob.

“Aww, fine then. I’ll just order my own slice from the menu.” Mingyu says, stomping off with an exhausting amount of drama.

Seungcheol eats messily, and Jihoon has to hand him a napkin, tamping down on the urge to lean over and just lick the residue of apple off Seungcheol’s cheek.

The two of them sit around the booth together companionably, and although there are secrets among them now, these are the slick, sticky sort of secrets that compress the spaces between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I'm hungry now.  
> 2) Who wouldn't want Jihoon's pie honestly.  
> 3) I hope this chapter makes sense.  
> 4) Feedback is appreciated :)


	6. Embezzlement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step forward, two steps back.

When they finish up their business in the diner, Seungcheol pays up and they head out.

Mingyu approaches the van like a man being led to the gallows.

“Mingyu.” Wonwoo greets him, coolly raising an eyebrow. He’s obviously still angry with Mingyu for whatever he did, and doesn’t seem all that happy about letting him back in the van. But Mingyu's got that tragic dejected look down so freakin' well now that it's like shutting a puppy out in the rain.

“Listen, I’m sorry about what I said. Friends?” Mingyu smiles, and despite the bruise around his eye and the fatigue in his face, he looks genuinely happy.

Wonwoo makes a harsh, snorting noise, which sounds forced and determined, but slightly amused. "Don’t think this means I forgive you for being an idiot," he says bitterly and Mingyu nods carefully and slides into the front passenger seat.

Wonwoo starts the car, drives three miles before Vernon prods at the uncomfortable silence. “So what did you say to Wonu that got him so angry with you anyway?”

“I made fun of his stamp collection.” Mingyu says cheerfully.

Wonwoo hits the brakes _, hard._

It's a pretty unpleasant stop from fifty miles an hour. Jihoon could have easily been painting the windscreen with his face if it wasn’t for Seungcheol’s soccer mom protective hand routine, holding him firmly in place. The sound of breaks screeching and things hitting the floor of the vehicle fills the silence.

But Wonwoo only has eyes for Mingyu. He's glaring like he thinks he's going to win a competition - and honestly if there was one he would absolutely take home some sort of horrible trophy.

"You think that’s the reason I punched you?” Wonwoo says, flatly and accusingly.

Mingyu blinks in confusion. “Uhmm—isn’t it?”

“No.” Wonwoo says roughly.

“Then I have no idea what I said to piss you off dude. Guess you’re just sensitive. _Lol!”_ Mingyu offers with a big dopey grin. He articulates the _‘lol’_ too—and that’s just asking to get punched.

Wonwoo obviously thinks so too—because he promptly punches him again.

 _Hey’s_ and _Woah’s_ and _Dude’s_ break out from the back of the van. Mingyu may have the emotional maturity of an eight year-old and the anti-social behaviour of a serial killer, but nobody deserves two black eyes in one day.

“That’s it—I’m officially not your friend anymore.” Mingyu says, abruptly somber instead of angry.

“Woah, Wonwoo dude. He has no more eyes left for you to punch!” Vernon cries out.

Wonwoo swivels round to look at them. “Mind your own beeswax Vernon!

Vernon pulls a confused, and ever so slightly hurt, face in the backseat, as if he never expected to be a target for Wonwoo's fiery righteous anger.

“Wonwoo! That was uncalled for! Mingyu’s your friend, you shouldn’t use violence to sort your arguments with him, and now you’ve made Vernon sad.”  Jihoon berates, because it feels instinctive now too unruffle feathers before shit gets out of hand.

Wonwoo hauls himself up until he can glare at Jihoon through the gap between the seats. “Stop trying to tell me what to do. I’m old enough to make my own decisions! You’re not my mom! You’re not even part of this family so shut your big—tiny face.” Wonwoo says angrily.

“I know that.” Jihoon says dejectedly from the back seat. “I just think there are better ways to handle your anger.” He points out gently. Though he thinks maybe Wonwoo deserves a little verbal bitchslapping for that.

Seungcheol is seething, now, waving his fist around as though he thinks physical intervention may be necessary. “Wonu—watch your fucking mouth and show Jihoon some respect or so god help me I’ll turn this car around and take us straight back to the bank!”

Wonwoo grunts like he doesn't care in the slightest.

“That’s it! Get out so I can whoop your ass.” Seungcheol growls, because there is nothing more helpful than solving violence with _more violence._

“I hate this gang! I wish I was never born!” Wonwoo yells, grabs his jacket and key and pulls open the door.

It thumps shut behind him. Seungcheol is quick on his heels; striding out of van with his teeth clenched so hard he may be turning them to powder.

“Seungcheol wait!” Jihoon calls out, jumping out of the van and rushing to stand in front of him. “Calm down! Just stop for a second.” He pleads.

Seungcheol halts almost immediately, all menace draining from his face. “I can’t! Somebody must teach him some manners. He must respect his elders.”

“I’m pretty sure Wonwoo is older than me actually, but it’s cool. I got this. Let me handle it, okay?” Jihoon argues, patting Seungcheol on the chest.

He spins on his heels and runs after Wonwoo, who—damn him and his long legs—is doing a great job of storming off dramatically across an empty field, his rucksack thrown over his back.

“Wonwoo—where are you going?” Jihoon shouts out, flanking him from the side.

Wonwoo continues to stamp towards him, and he doesn't look happy at all, mouth fixed in a tight line. “I’m running away. Get out of my way Jihoon, don’t try and stop me.”

“ _Okay_ —do you think that will solve your problems? I know emotions are running high at the moment and everyone is tired, but you can’t just bail on the group. They need you and your—” He gropes for a convincing argument. _Many blank faces? Emotional constipation? Glasses?_ “Intelligence!” he settles on.

Wonwoo’s eyes shine with unshed tears. He sniffs dramatically. “You’re just saying that! Nobody loves me and I’m probably adopted.”

Jihoon blinks at him, brain knocked off its tracks. “Well—if you’re adopted, then Mingyu and Vernon are definitely adopted. And so what! It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change how we feel about you. Me and Seungcheol find you all annoying in your own special way.” He says with feeling.

“Whatever. I don’t care.” Wonwoo declares so melodramatically it’s clear that he does in fact care. “Nobody cares about me. But you’ll all be sorry when I’m gone. You’ll all be like— _where’s Wonwoo?_ I wish Wonwoo was here, he was _swell_. I miss Wonwoo. I wish he would come back! But I won’t come back. _Ever!”_ Wonwoo’s voice has turned wheedling. The child is coming through.

“Here.” Jihoon puts his hand on Wonwoo’s arm, turning him until they’re facing each other. He holds him by his shoulders and looks him in the eye. “You don’t have to tell us what Mingyu said to upset you. It’s okay. Just sleep on how you’re feeling tonight and tomorrow morning—if you’re still angry. You can go and nobody will try and stop you.”

Wonwoo looks some strange mixture of confused and offended. Then mostly confused and disappointed. “Would _nobody_ try and stop me? At all?”

“Well—maybe Vernon will try, cause he looks up to you. And Seungcheol will be sad because he’ll be losing a valuable member of his team, his go to guy.”

“Will Mingyu miss me?”

Wonwoo’s voice holds maybe a trace of cautious optimism. Jihoon’s kind of unwilling to dent it.

“Mingyu? Don’t get me started on how much Mingyu will miss you. Oh god—Mingyu is going to be _so_ devastated when you leave, he might leave too.”

Wonwoo makes a very quiet noise of surprise, he seems to approve of that explanation, which may be the most unintentionally hilarious thing ever.

Wonwoo sniffles, then nods and turns away. He drops his duffel bag on the ground. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Jihoon shakes him lightly. “And you know what—I’m gonna miss you too. So, come on back to the van, and tell you what—we’ll even stop for ice-cream.” He bribes with an added ruffle of Wonwoo’s hair, because why the hell not.

Wonwoo’s eyes have started to water. He looks at Jihoon beseechingly, like a dog. “Yeah?”

“Sure thing, sport!” Jihoon tells him, giving him a winning smile.

Wonwoo continues to look conflicted for about five seconds, then he reaches down to pick up his duffel and practically skips back to the van.

……………………

The rest of the days driving goes by uneventfully. Jihoon really wishes Wonwoo would speed the hell up though—he needs to get to motel room like, _yesterday._

Since their little pie revelation, Seungcheol is somehow softer and sharper at the same time. Easier to be around but harder to be close to. Jihoon almost wishes he didn't know, that it was still a stupid, dangerous crush that happened around the violence, and the adrenaline, and his life quietly falling apart. Something he could indulge in at night inside his own head, that would never fucking happen. But now - knowing that Seungcheol wants him back is a special sort of torture.

Compounding the problem is the fact that Seungcheol seems to be on a mission to drive him slowly insane. Although he hasn’t resorted to taking his shirt off (yet), he’s been leaving one more shirt button undone than usual, and instead of drumming his fingers against his knee (his usual restless habit) he’s been sucking on lollipops (wherever the hell he got them from) and coffee stirrers and tapping a wide variety of other phallic objects (seriously, he did something obscene to a banana) against that ridiculous lower lip.

He sits back with his legs sprawled open, his body a set of taut lines all leading toward his crotch. When Jihoon looks at him (at his face, that is) he flicks his eyes away as though he’s been ‘accidentally’ caught staring, but his gaze lingers a millisecond too long for it to be unintentional.

Jihoon knows how to want, and he knows what it feels like to _never, ever_ have the things he wants. He's been going without for a long time. So, yeah, two people wanting the same thing—neither knowing how to take the first step—it’s pretty much torture.

……………………

Jihoon doesn't even know what time it is. He's barely cognizant of the town they arrive in. He feels restless and turned on and made of edges. He feels like he's burning up underneath his own skin. He barely even has time to say goodnight to the three idiots, before Seungcheol is dragging him out of the reception area to the steps, getting them a motel room in such a rushed and desperate way that it's obvious to the entire world what they're planning to do the moment the door closes behind them.

Then the door closes behind them.

Jihoon's heart is lurching forward like the second hand on a clock. Seungcheol pauses by the door, the keys dangling from his fingers.

Jihoon steps towards him without hesitation. Seungcheol, however, is the one who hesitates. He puts his hands on Jihoon's shoulders and steadies the distance between them. Jihoon, when he looks up into his face, sees something that he almost doesn't recognize at first, that Seungcheol rarely shows anyone. But then he realizes what it is, and his breath is a caught cog in his throat. Seungcheol is nervous. This isn't a quick one night stand, a brutal fuck between strangers before going their way.

"If I had my way, we wouldn’t be doing this in some cheap motel room." Seungcheol says. The statement is quiet, but Jihoon has the impression every word matters. He's been tumbling words around in his brain, like rocks in a polisher, searching for the right ones to show what he's feeling. It's clear Seungcheol has been doing the same.

Jihoon steps into the space between their bodies. "Where would we be doing this then," he says. "The back of the van? Against the side of the van? On the hood of the van?"

Seungcheol quirks and an amused brow. “Do you have a van kink I should know about?”

He smiles to himself and shuffles closer. “No. It’s just the van and the motel rooms are the only locations we’ve been in.”

“I was thinking more of a fancy hotel room. With luxury bedsheets, and chaise lounges and big expensive paintings above the bed.” Seungcheol says, trying for a casual tone.

Jihoon steps forward, right into Seungcheol’s space. “Do you have an interior décor kink I should know about?” he rasps against Seungcheol's ear, laughing as their inhibitions – never too many to begin with – fall away and Jihoon is biting at his neck.

Seungcheol chuckles. “I just wanted this to be more memorable.” He says softly.

Something in Jihoon threatens to break at the sudden compassion in Seungcheol’s voice, so he clears his throat and does what he does best: redirects. “I don’t think there’s enough counselling in the world to make me forget the last two days dude. Don’t worry.”

He puts out his hand and inserts his first two fingers carefully into the collar of Seungcheol’s shirt. He can feel the smooth weight of the shirt fabric, the hard knot of Seungcheol’s tie. The heat of Seungcheol’s skin, and then his pulse, strong and regular.

Seungcheol stands still, eyeing him. There’s no sound but the buzz of the air conditioning in the room.

Then Jihoon pulls slightly on Seungcheol’s shirt. Seungcheol breathes in quickly, a single short breath like the gasp before jumping off a bridge into a river—and leans down and tips his head and they kiss. It’s light, almost tentative at first. His hand brushes the nape of Jihoon’s neck. He makes a small, animal sound, then Seungcheol is really kissing him.

No, that's too nice of a word to describe it.

Seungcheol is _throwing_ himself at Jihoon, pushing him against the wall so that Jihoon’s head bangs backwards, and Seungcheol is trying to conquer his mouth while Jihoon brings one leg up and slides it around Seungcheol thigh, pulling them groin to groin, chest to chest.

Jihoon is kissing and rubbing, and Seungcheol’s tongue licks his bottom lip so Jihoon opens his mouth wider and lets Seungcheol in. Then Seungcheol leans in harder and his tongue pushes past Jihoon’s lips. 

Jihoon has fingers full of cotton and cloth and it's too easy to push his hands into fists and pull.

He finds that he likes the way this feels. He likes the way Seungcheol manhandles and pins him, holds him against the wall as though Jihoon might change his mind and retreat. He likes the weight of Seungcheol's body, a protective press of muscle holding him steady. He likes the way Seungcheol takes command of the kiss, tilting Jihoon's head back with guiding hands and holding him still for the probing touch of his tongue.

Seungcheol tastes like chocolate and smoke, all heat and slick with the velvet slide of his tongue. The kiss is hard and heavy and so fucking good. It's the best kiss Jihoon's had for months, fucking months. There's a lazy, lustful, rough edge to it that makes it threaten to devolve into something messy and wet. Jihoon kind of wants it to and his cock stiffens a little in his pants. Enough, he thinks, that Seungcheol might have felt it.

Seungcheol’s deft hands come to rest on Jihoon's waist, holding him up, and it's a good thing too, because Jihoon's thighs are starting to tremble. It's been so long. Jihoon's been so good, so patient.

Seungcheol breaks the kiss. His hand falls away from Jihoon’s neck to grab at his ass and haul him closer. “Fuck--“ He grunts breathlessly. He licks his lips. “I can’t wait to plunder you.”

“That sounds… _”_ Jihoon’s face is heated. He’s still got a two-finger hold on Seungcheol’s collar “Really _piratey_ —were you trying to sound like a pirate?”

The tips of Seungcheol’s ears pinken. “No—uh—it was meant to sound sexy.” He says, resting his forehead briefly against Jihoon’s. “Let me try again.”

“Okay.”

He licks his way up Jihoon’s throat as Jihoon runs fingers through his hair, ruining the gel and teasing out the strands. “I’m excited about ransacking you.” He whispers.

Jihoon draws up a snort. “Also—very, very _piratey._ It sounds like you want to steal things from me and make me walk the plank. Is this because you’re a thief?”

Seungcheol huffs quietly into the side of Jihoon’s neck. “My mind keeps drawing up these words and they sound great in my head.” He mumbles. He looks stiff and awkward, biting his lip like he's not sure whether to go or not. Which, no, really, no, Jihoon wants to hear what he has to say—regardless of how Pirates of the Caribbean it’s sounding.

“Relax. You got this—try again.” Jihoon says, jerking his hips against Seungcheol’s.

“Right, right. Uhmm—“ He looks confused, then thoughtful, then excited. “I’m going to pillage you!” he declares with wide eyes.

Jihoon buries his face into the side of Seungcheol’s neck. After a moment, Seungcheol says, “Are you laughing at me?”

“No.” Jihoon muffles the word into his collar.

Seungcheol jerks his head back to look at him, “You’re laughing at me.” He sounds exasperated. His mouth curling in a moue.

“No. Maybe. A little.”

Seungcheol sighs, collapsing inward slightly. “I’m usually very good with the _words,_ ” he hesitates for a long, long moment. “You make me so nervous.”

“Oh my god— _why?”_ Jihoon asks, incredulously.

He looks Jihoon in the face, and his expression is equal parts embarrassed and accusatory. “You can be very intimidating, you know. You’re super shot, with your perfectly tailored suit, your pert little ass, and your razor-sharp wit.” He’s speaking slowly, like a blind man groping down a hallway. “I’m worried you’re going to twist whatever stuff I have to say into something hilarious and—I’m overthinking a lot more than I usually do.”

Jihoon blinks in shock. “Don’t be nervous, that’s stupid.” He blurts out, then cringes at his own awkwardness. “I mean, you have nothing to be nervous about. If anyone here should be nervous it’s me. I’m the one who had the sexy dream about you within 12 hours of meeting you. I’m the one who’s spent most of the last two days thinking about how hot you are and how I can’t wait to have my legs around your head."

Seungcheol doesn't even pretend to be unaffected by that.  His eyes are shipwrecks in open daylight.

"Really? I’d love to hear what else you’ve been thinking about Sweetpea," Seungcheol asks, his voice low and baritone. Jihoon groans as Seungcheol kisses his collarbone, loving the rough scratch of his stubble as it works over Jihoon's skin.

“Uhm—okay. So like, when you burst into the bank the other day….

Jihoon doesn't even try to censor himself. He just lets his mouth say whatever it likes. So, yeah, he's slurring a lot of complimentary and occasionally awkwardly dirty things about Seungcheol. Because Seungcheol is huge and insanely hot and Jihoon is pretty sure no one ever tells him as much, considering all the girly blushing he’s doing.

Which is pretty much exactly when the three idiots show up, proving that they have epic timing and providing Jihoon with the amusement of watching Seungcheol tense up like a deer who expects to get shot within the next five seconds.

Vernon pulls his hand over his face like he can't bear to look; Wonwoo frowns his special frown of _'I’m thinking of running away again'_ and Mingyu—Mingyu doesn’t look the slightest bit phased actually; dramatic reveals are wasted on him.

“Guess what you guys.” Mingyu says, in a way Jihoon thinks is too cheerful and relaxed.

“What is it now? Can’t you guys entertain yourselves for a few hours and leave us in peace?” Seungcheol says without taking his eyes off Jihoon.

Wonwoo clears his throat. “I thought you would like to know the news is showcasing a piece about the heist. I think you should watch it.” He says, very pointedly not look at Seungcheol's hands still resting on Jihoon’s waist.

…………….

Jihoon is glad that Wonwoo warned him, because he’s not sure he could have handled it if he hadn’t mentally steeled himself in advance.

He recognizes the picture as soon as he sees it, centre screen of the news channel the three idiots have switched the station too. A black and white photo of a blond haired, sour-mouthed man with tight eyes.

It’s Him.

A very _unflattering,_ grainy, black and white picture of him that belongs to the front of his employee folder.

Seungcheol has seen it, too. Flicked a glance at the screen, and then turned to stone, expressionless, unblinking.

Jihoon's heart begins to pound an urgent warning as the screen zooms out to show a News-Night anchor-man staring soberly into the camera.

_Anchor-man : Police officials believe the heist was an inside job, masterminded and executed by the former bank manager: Lee Jihoon. Lee Jihoon went missing the day of the robbery, presumably taken hostage by the thieves. But police now suspect he was directly involved and his continued disappearance suggests he has fled the country with his share of the heist._

“Jihoon wasn’t part of our heist crew though.” Mingyu says, as if he thinks he's being helpful, or that everyone didn't know that already.

_Anchor-man: “Our reporter interviewed some of Lee Jihoon’s former colleagues today; here’s what one of them had to say”:_

The screen cuts to one of the bank employee’s Jihoon recognises; he’s had a few unpleasant run ins with the man.

_Disgruntled employee : “I can’t believe he’s a big **BLEEP** thief! I trusted that **BLEEP** man and I am simply **BLEEP**! I hope he **BLEEP** himself to death. And if somebody doesn’t **BLEEP** him, I’ll pray that he gets **BLEEP** in hell. What a **BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP**!”_

The reporter coughs, and tries to regain control as the man continues to swear and shake his fist off screen.

_Reporter : As you can plainly see, Lee Jihoon was not popular amongst his employees. _

Jihoon snorts with all the derision he can muster. Which is actually a fair bit, turns out. “I was popular! That guy just never liked me and I never liked him.” Jihoon drawls.

He’s expecting a balanced opinion next, from somebody he knows well who’ll pain a pleasant picture of him. The camera pans back to the reporter, who’s now joined by a tall, and annoyingly handsome man Jihoon identifies immediately.

“Oh my god—“ Jihoon gasps looking at the screen.

“What—what?” Vernon asks.

“It’s my ex.” He gasps, not looking away from the screen. He can’t help but think of all the horrible blackmail Jin-Young has on him, such as the tiny farts he makes when he laughs too hard, or the time he had accidentally punched an old woman in the face, or his paralyzing fear of ducks. There is a reason he doesn't keep people around who know him very well.

_Reporter : “Mr Young—has this news come as a shock to you?”_

_Jin Young: “Absolutely. I can’t believe Jihoon would do this. A thief? No chance. Not Jihoon.” _Jin young tells the reporter, shaking his head emphatically.

Jihoon smiles, “Wow, what a nice, decent,”, he drops back into silence because Jin-Young continues talking.

_“Jihoon’s far too boring to plan a heist! He was boring in bed, had a boring personality. He would never have done something so out of this world and exciting. You’ve got the wrong guy for sure!”_

“—SON OF A BITCH!” Jihoon yells in outrage and has to be restrained from hurling himself at the television set.

Just then, Seungkwan appears on screen brandishing a Justice for Jihoon placard.

“Oh! Oh! Seungkwan—he’ll do me justice!” Jihoon bounces excitedly.

_Reporter: “Mr Boo, you were working closely with the suspect during his time as manager, can you paint us a picture of how he may have carried something like this out? Do you think he had it in him?”_

_Boo Seungkwan: “Definitely, yes. He was odd, dangerous— **evil** even. I sensed it immediately because I have a sixth sense about these kinda things. He was kind of a loner too—which I always find suspicious, it’s the quiet ones you should be wary of. And I think he was miserable in his life, failed relationships and dead end in his career—he was a psychopath in the making now that I think about it. That’s why I started this Justice for Jihoon campaign. I’m raising money for him to be put behind bars—where he belongs! Bring Jihoon to Justice! Give him the punishment he deserves.” _

Jihoon gapes at the screen and slumps down on the bed. “But—but, Seungkwan was my friend.” He mumbles miserably. He almost says “Et tu, Seungkwan?” but acknowledges that Seungkwan can’t hear him through the TV screen.

 _Reporter: “Not exactly a ringing endorsement for Lee Jihoon’s character.” _The reporter announces tilting his head dramatically at the camera.

_Reporter: “Is Lee Jihoon a psychopath? Can his criminal tendencies be traced back through his childhood? That and more, after the break.”_

Jihoon glares at the accusing glow of the screen for as long as it takes him to sigh out a whole breath.  “I can’t believe Seungkwan turned on me—after he shat his pants and I helped him cover for it.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, looking back at the television. “He’s under pressure—he’ll probably say anything to distance himself. He doesn’t mean it.”

Jihoon’s eyes slide sideways. “He called me a psychopath in the making, a loner—evil! He’s proactively raising money to put me behind bars!”

Wonwoo pats him on the shoulder. “It’s not that bad.”

_Reporter: “We’re back. Up next, we’ll be speaking to Mr Yoon Jeonghan, Jihoon’s neighbour.”_

Jihoon really doesn't like the sound of that but, honestly, it's not like it could get any worse.

_Reporter: “Tonight, we’ve been covering a showcase special on Lee Jihoon; lonely bank manager turned psycho thief. You’ve heard from his friends, his co-workers and his ex-lovers. Now here from his neighbour, Yoon Jeonghan, who’s known Jihoon for over 5 years. Here’s what he had to say:_

_Jeonghan: “He invited me to join a cult!”_

Okay—maybe it could get worse.

The entire showcase is just endless stories of how bad he is, read by serious newsreaders who look thrilled to be at work, telling everyone in serious, droning voices exactly how much of an asshole Jihoon is and how everyone hated him. Each eye witness account is accompanied by several incriminating stills of Jihoon frowning and scowling and glaring at things, and generally looking incredibly deviant. The sad thing is—they’re not even photoshopped. It’s just his resting bitch face that nobody told him about.

Jihoon wants to curl into a ball and cry.

Why the hell does he care so much about what the general public thinks about him? It’s all lies. _Mostly._ So what if he’s not adventurous in bed? And he can’t be the only one working a job they hate.

The guy they’re portraying in this report isn't even him; it's just some bored, lonely bank manager. Someone who looks sad, and occasionally angry and has settled into a monotonous cycle of work—sleep—cry.

Damn it, it _is_ him. The world has voted on Lee Jihoon and found him completely unworthy of redemption, or love, or even sex. He's become a dull and angry loner, and he only has himself to blame.

When did his life get so weird?

Weirder than usual.

And awful.

He used to have better self esteem.

“WHY IS THIS HAPPENING!” Jihoon yells, letting all his betrayal, confusion, and rage seep into his voice. He looks up at the ceiling, like he’s expecting God to appear and tell him this is payback for all those times he read a text message notification without opening it, not replied, then pretended he never got the message in the first place.

Wonwoo shrugs in a perfectly readable _'ok, maybe it is that bad,'_ kind of way.

Even Mingyu looks sorry, Mingyu, who's looking like a panda with his two black eyes and looking sympathetic and something else, something- _oh god_ , it's pity isn't it, he rates pity now.

"What did I ever do to these people?!" He says mournfully, desperately.

A heavy arm around his shoulders drags him out of his self-reprobation. "Who watches the news on television anyway?” Vernon asks rhetorically. He’s looking at them, waiting for something. “Nobody is going to remember this in a few weeks.” he says, but his forced grin of optimism is so close to terrifying it's not even funny.

"No, seriously, no, this is completely unfair.” Jihoon huffs, jumping up from the bed.

Jihoon's not really finished talking but Vernon takes two steps forward and wraps his arms around him. The whining stops really quickly because it’s a nice hug, really warm, all stiffness and strange tension and a lot of back slapping, like Vernon thinks Jihoon needs burping before a nap or something.

But that's ok, sometimes it takes a while to accept that you need a hug. Sometimes you don't think you deserve one.

"I'm sorry that everyone hates you," Vernon says.

“Thanks Vernon.” Jihoon grumbles.

Vernon doesn't let go, even when Jihoon's arms move up to ease him away. He winds his arms all the way round his back and presses their cheeks together. “We don’t hate you, we love you Jihoon. You’re one of us now.” and here Jihoon feels an involuntary spasm of pleasure at being considered a part of this group, being included in that nebulous pronoun 'us'.

“In the whole scheme of things, it could be worse.” Seungcheol says. It's the only opinion he offers about the whole matter, and Jihoon is suddenly irrationally annoyed.

“How could it possibly, possibly be worse?” He complains, loudly and accusingly.

“They could be accusing you of worse things. Murder, arson, drug trafficking, corpse desecration.” Seungcheol says, in a strangely sensible tone of voice.

“Actually, they did, earlier in the broadcast. You guys missed it.” Wonwoo points out.

“Let’s not watch anymore—it will just stress you out.” Seungcheol says, reaching over to guide Jihoon by the hand out of the room. Jihoon actually bites down on whatever he might have said for once because, ok, yes, that does seem to be the priority right now. He is practically vibrating with tension, not to mention barely-suppressed resentment at how little Seungcheol seems to care about the whole thing.

The minute they’re back in their room again, he turns on Seungcheol, nostrils flaring.

“You knew about this didn’t you—you were watching the news last night and you switched the TV off the minute I walked in! You hid this from me.” Jihoon says, pointing a furious finger at him.

Seungcheol spreads his hands, a helpless innocent sort of gesture that his size shouldn't let him get away with. “There was a short news bulletin about it last night, I thought it was wide speculation that would die off, I didn’t think they’d run with it.”

“You didn’t think—GAH!” Jihoon huffs, collapsing onto the couch and rubbing his brow.

“It’s not a big deal Jihoon, it’s just speculation.” That's clearly supposed to be reassuring, as is the hand that presses down on his shoulder. It seems to be saying 'take a breath.'

Seungcheol raises one foot and shoves the table away from the couch, opening up space in front of Jihoon’s feet. Before Jihoon can say anything, he drops to his knees and lays his palms on Jihoon’s thighs. “News reports are always going to sensationalise shit. They run your name through the mud to stir up hype and then when nothing comes from it they retract their statement. You haven’t done anything and they have no proof, so there is nothing to worry about, okay?” he offers with a reassuring smile.

Jihoon shakes his head jerkily. His knee is jiggling impatiently and he can't get it to stop.  “Stop trying to play this down. And stop smiling, it’s distracting.”

“Sorry.” Seungcheol doesn’t stop. His hands are warm and strong, and he’s started to rub Jihoon’s thighs gently, in and up. “Look, it’s not that big a deal.”

Jihoon leans forward and catches Seungcheol’s wrists, holding him still. “It’s a huge deal! They suspect me of being involved in the robbery-which I’m not. And they’re publishing my private life all over the fucking news. This is humiliating.”

Seungcheol sighs, as if Jihoon makes a habit of worrying about things which aren't particularly important. “Relax.”

Jihoon holds on tightly to that flare of irritation “No. No relaxing—call them!”

Seungcheol’s hands have stopped moving, but he hasn’t tried to take them away. “Excuse me?” His eyes are dark and intense, locked on Jihoon’s face.

“Call them—tell them it’s all lies. Tell them I’m not involved with your heist. I’m innocent.” There's a slightly hysterical edge to his voice, but he thinks that's probably fair under the circumstances.

Seungcheol’s silent. He’s not smiling anymore. His hands are still. “And—you think that will work? You think they’ll take MY word for it. Forgetting for a minute that they could trace my call and locate us, you think it’s possible they’re going to agree with what I tell them?”

“Yes! Tell them you took me hostage—they’ll believe it. It will clear my name.” Jihoon says, voice half-strangled, and he gets the feeling he's desperately trying to convince himself too.

“It’s not going to work Jihoon. It’s not that simple.” Seungcheol points out. In what he clearly thinks is his sensible and helpful voice.

“Fine. Then—drop me off. Let me go so I can clear my name.”

“You know I can’t do that. Not yet.” Seungcheol’s eyebrows scrunch together in a way that's trying to be guilty and accusing at the same time. “Besides, why do you care what they think—they don’t seem to care about you much, considering all this shit they’re coming out with. Although, I suspect some of what they’re saying is true enough.”

Jihoon gapes at him. “Oh really!”

Seungcheol looks slightly pained, as though he’s just realized he’s revealed too much. “None of the character defamation stuff. But, I do think you’re miserable back there. I do think you hate your job.” he says quietly, but meaningfully.

Jihoon doesn’t have a response to that, because it is, essentially, true. Jihoon did hate the direction his life was heading. But he doesn't remember how Seungcheol knows, and Seungcheol smirks up at him, triumphant in this piece of Jihoon that he's managed to capture, like a flag in a game. Jihoon looks away towards the window, and then he looks back when Seungcheol continues talking.

“I could tell you were frustrated and bored the moment I met you. Honestly—you seem a lot happier since we’ve kidnapped you.” He says. His voice bleeds tender, and that makes it all the worse. Jihoon doesn't want his pity. He isn't sure what he wants from Seungcheol anymore, because it's always been wrapped up in a complicated package of frustrated hormones and adult regret, but he knows that he doesn't want his pity.

Jihoon lets go of Seungcheol’s wrists and leans back. “That’s so easy for you to say Seungcheol. I had a nice life before you kidnapped and fucked it up! You’re making away with millions of dollars and I’m going back to a tattered existence. We just met two days ago, don’t pretend like you know jack shit about me.”

Seungcheol sits back on his heels. He looks particularly bruised now, as if Jihoon hasn’t just told him off but backhanded him as well. “I’m sorry,” he says after a moment. “But, you don’t have to go back—you could-“

“What?” Jihoon interjects sharply, because he’s sure Seungcheol is about to say, _come with me_ , and Jihoon wants to punch him for being completely, utterly absurd.

“I could what? Continue this perpetual road trip from hell. With Dumb, Dumber and Dumbest and a guy who can’t scrape a decent heist crew together if his life depended on it? And the amazing thing is, your life DOES depend on it. How the hell have you not been caught yet. You’re so shit at this discretion thing. You’ve revealed enough about yourself that, when you release me I could draw the police a map straight to your front door.”

Jihoon thinks for a fraction of a second there's something tight under Seungcheol's expression of amusement. But then it's gone and there's just a dubiously raised eyebrow instead.

“I don’t believe you would do that.” Seungcheol says evenly, and contemplation gives way to a hint of frustration, and Jihoon is fascinated in spite of himself. “But if you’re so hell bent on getting back to your life. A few more stops—and I’ll let you go.”

“Whatever, I’m done talking with you. And if you think we’re fucking after this—think again. You’re sleeping on the couch.” Jihoon grumbles without looking at him, because when the walls of what-could-have-been are falling down on you, the last line of defence is always to act like you don't give a shit.

But it's an awful lie; even he knows it, and Seungcheol, it appears, is all out of tenderness, because he scoffs and goes to have a shower.

Jihoon decides then he's going to hate him a little bit, just for a while. He turns on the TV and it's a loud brash sound into the otherwise inexhaustible quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Blue balls. sorry  
> 2) Poor Jihoon. I always find it amusing how biased news reports are when reporting on current events. Not to sound like a conspiracy theorist, but everyone has an agenda. Journalism is not free and unbiased.  
> 3) Seungcheol being awkward and nervous is really heart warming for me....I don't know why.  
> 4)Feedback always appreciated.


	7. Debentures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting there....

It’s around 2am in the morning and Jihoon has come to conclusion that he’s blown off a lot of hot air over nothing. More precisely, he’s blown a lot of hot air at _Seungcheol,_ over nothing. Jihoon stares at the ceiling for a silent age thinking about that.

He figures he has three choices:

  1. Tell Seungcheol that he's maybe accidentally misdirected his anger at him, and he’s sorry.
  2. Not apologise outright, but maybe offer Seungcheol the other half of the bed. Who knows, perhaps they can pick up where they left off ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) **.**
  3. Continue to angst in the bed like a little bitch about it.



He thinks of a dozen ways to start what he's about to say, and fails to find a good one every damn time. Before he can make his mind up, there's a faint rustle of sheet to his right and Seungcheol speaks up from the far side of the room. “I hope you realise you’re misdirecting your anger at me, it’s hardly my fault you have sucky friends and a boring life.”

Oh, well—that settles it then. Angst it is.

Jihoon sits up and turns on the bedside lamp. He directs a scathing glare at Seungcheol, who’s sprawled out on the tiny couch, taking up a truly ridiculous amount of space with his giant limbs. “Shut up—I’m not talking to you.” Jihoon spits.

Seungcheol stares at him, some combination of irritation, disbelief and insult. “Then, how come I can still hear you talking to me?”

Jihoon attempts to kill Seungcheol with the force of his second glare. “Well—I was just informing you that I won’t be talking to you anymore.”

“You’re still talking Jihoon.” He sing-songs.

Jihoon glares at him again, half-heartedly, mostly just on principle. Seungcheol smiles back, which he does a lot. Jihoon finds Seungcheol’s natural immunity to his displeasure immensely irritating. Even more irritating is the fact that he seems to be getting used to it.

It’s too late, or depending how you look at it, too early to start shouting, so Jihoon huffs, rolls over and shuts his eyes.

“Switch the lamp off.” Seungcheol calls out.

And the thing is—Jihoon was _just_ about to. But now that Seungcheol has asked him to— _he won’t!_

A minute passes and another rustle of sheets. “Aw come on! Are you seriously gonna sleep with the lamp on? Please just switch it off. Don’t be so difficult Jihoon.” Seungcheol whines while Jihoon snickers into his pillow.

There's a long irritated sigh from across the room. “Fine.” Seungcheol says, getting up off the couch and stomping over to turn the lamp off.

As soon as he can hear Seungcheol’s footsteps slowly fading, Jihoon reaches out and turns the lamp on again.

“Honestly? Why are you like this?” Seungcheol says, and he gets a healthy amount of annoyance into the words. Jihoon can feel the glare, even though he's currently cackling like a maniac. Seungcheol stomps over once more and flicks the lamp off, looming over Jihoon for a minute in silent warning before retreating.

Feeling emboldened by the darkness, Jihoon waits until Seungcheol is settling under his blanket, before flicking it on again.

Seungcheol sits up abruptly, eyeballs him from the other side of the room and Jihoon's reminded, suddenly, of how much bigger Seungcheol is than him. How quietly ruthless. “Are you fucking kidding me!” He growls.

Jihoon grips the edge of his pillow and waits until Seungcheol is within whacking distance, then leaps up and lobs him in the face with the pillow. Seungcheol looks alarmed, which is vaguely satisfying, but not enough to make Jihoon unclench his fists from the pillow.

“Ow.” Seungcheol shakes his head, trying to regain focus.

Jihoon whacks him again, this time on the chest. “Ha!”

“Stop.”

“No. I wont.” Jihoon protests without pause.

“Why? Ow.” Seungcheol manages in between hits to his chest and back.

Jihoon hefts the pillow above his head and delivers a series of blows.

“This is for robbing the bank!” Jihoon spits, _For being so drop dead gorgeous on sight, Jihoon thinks._

“And this is for kidnapping me!” He grunts. _For being a frustrating cock-tease 24/7, he thinks._

“And this is for having an ass that won’t quit!” He adds. _For not telling me about the news report, he thinks._

_Oh—wait, I may have messed up my inner monologue on that last one there._

There’s feathers. Feathers everywhere.

The next ten minutes are the most enthusiastic pillow fight sequences of Jihoon’s life. And it’s less of a pillow fight and more of Seungcheol standing there and allowing himself to be beaten with a pillow.

“Is this helping you vent?” Seungcheol says, nonplussed.

“Yes!” Jihoon grunts, and he thinks a pillow fight is pretty polite under the circumstances.

“Okay then.” Seungcheol mumbles. He does nothing. Only stares straight ahead with his lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed. Jihoon tries to wipe that expression off his face with another pillow smash.

“Has anyone ever told you that you might have a bit of an anger problem?” Seungcheol declares in that perfectly level tone.

“It may have been mentioned once or twice.” Jihoon says through gritted teeth, his pillow game still going strong.

Others have indeed suggested that Jihoon needs to work on his emotional stability. Generally ex-lovers, although Jihoon isn’t going to mention that part. He has two modes — _buttoned-up stoicism_ and **incandescent rage!** — and because his job requires the former, the latter tends to come out when he’s off duty.

Jihoon’s rage is a beautiful, terrible creature, a flurry of teeth and claws that can only be sated by fighting or fucking. Lovers have ranged from accepting to enthusiastic about the fucking, but reactions to the fighting have been considerably more lukewarm.

It’s better when his partner fights back, even if it’s just playfully. But Seungcheol is treating the whole pillow attack as a minor inconvenience and it just rankles Jihoon further.

“Fight back, you jackass! Man to man—pillow to pillow.” Jihoon grunts.

“It’s cool. I’ll wait it out.” Seungcheol mumbles.

Jihoon scowls, tossing the pillow aside and launching himself at Seungcheol.

Seungcheol sighs, and then suddenly Jihoon discovers that he’s pinned to the mattress, Seungcheol’s forearm braced across his chest. Jihoon curses and pushes against him instinctively, trying to shove him away, but Seungcheol just leans in with more of his not-inconsiderable mass and begins speaking calmly but forcefully. “A pillow fight is one thing. But if you think I’m going to fist fight you—no. It’s hardly a fair match.”

“Fuck that! Fight me. I can take you!” Jihoon says sharply, face colouring, trying to twist his way out of Seungcheol's impossible grip.

Seungcheol laughs, in a way that tells him he finds the likelihood of that hilarious. “Trust me Jihoon, that’s not a good idea.”

Jihoon glares at him. “I got kicked out of a kick-boxing class for hospitalising the instructor!” It's pretty good as threats go, but Seungcheol's irritatingly hard to threaten.

“Nice. But I have training Jihoon— _military_ experience.”

Jihoon stops struggling, considering this information, then realizes how close Seungcheol’s face is to his own. Seungcheol’s breathing over his cheeks and smiling in that way he has that Jihoon is far too attached to, and really there's no excuse for being this close and not kissing.

Seungcheol smells good too, like aftershave and cigarette smoke, and Jihoon hates that it calms him down. The warm pressure of the arm banded across his chest is oddly soothing, and Jihoon hates that, too. He wants everything about Seungcheol to make him angrier.

“This isn’t how I imagined having you under me would be like.” Seungcheol murmurs. Jihoon's instantly attached to the way his voice sounds when he's aroused. New and shaky and just a little too deep.

Jihoon makes a soft noise that's half mockery and half honest want. He sags in defeat, letting his arms hang by his side and his head droop back on the bed. He's obviously used up all the energy he has for the middle of the night. “You’re no fun.” He grumbles.

“I’m plenty of fun. I just don’t think you’ll like me when I’m angry.” Seungcheol says, lifting off and holding up his hands, poised to fend off another pillow attack. When Jihoon merely rolls over to his side and tucks the pillow back under his head, Seungcheol relaxes his stance. “Feeling better?”

“A little.” Jihoon grumbles.

Seungcheol nods and steps back of the bed, giving Jihoon some space. Jihoon is grateful for it at the same time that his body keens at the loss.

“Are we all right, then?” Seungcheol says, still watching him cautiously

Jihoon isn’t sure how to answer that question. His anger has crept back into its darkened lair, and now he just feels exhausted and hopeless. The best he can manage is, “We’re as all right as we’re going to get right now.”

Seungcheol huffs something annoyed, but doesn't say another word and heads back to his corner of the room.

Jihoon lays in the darkness until the sound of Seungcheol's breathing goes deep and slow.

* * *

 

The next morning is an obstacle course of professionalism and platitudes and never laying so much as a finger on each other.

Well—that’s the plan. Seungcheol seems intent to thwart said plan at every opportunity.

He practically eye fucks Jihoon over breakfast. Staring at him with the hungry look of a supermodel faced with a piece of cake. It's a flattering look, really, and Jihoon might return it any other time. However, he's decided to give the whole angry silent treatment thing another shot, and Jihoon is excellent at nothing if not compartmentalization.

Still. It feels incredibly awkward staring into Seungcheol’s eyes, and it also reminds Jihoon of their altercation last night, so he directs his gaze slightly past Seungcheol’s right ear and tries to think relaxing, non-sexual thoughts.

He cycles through puppies, pizza, and bad romantic comedies. And it works— _for all of ten seconds_ , before his brain helpfully creates the image of Seungcheol standing at his front door step _in the rain_ (so romantic), holding a puppy in one hand, a pizza (doubly romantic) in the other.

So Jihoon tries to ignore him, hiding behind a pancake the size of his lungs until it disintegrates and falls off his fork, probably because Seungcheol was trying to eye fuck him through it!

“Does anyone want my pancake?” Jihoon offers, because he’s full and it's only polite.

Seungcheol gives him a vaguely lustful look, like perhaps he'd mistaken the word 'pancake' for 'sex.' Or maybe he just thinks Jihoon is the sort of shameless seducer who'll find some way to turn pancakes into sex.

That's...a good plan actually, he should think about that.

* * *

 

Seungcheol insists on sitting next to him when they’re driving in the van. Jihoon wishes he wouldn't, because he's sure that he must appear hopelessly horny.

Despite the cold shoulder routine he’s working hard on, arousal is his default state around Seungcheol.

Seungcheol says nothing, but his hand brushes the back of Jihoon's neck almost as if by accident. The light curl of his fingers makes it obvious it is no accident. Jihoon holds his muscles still and almost forgets how to breathe properly and then jerks his shoulders backwards to shrug Seungcheol’s hand off.

Seungcheol rescinds his arm, making a noise next to him which can only be described as huffy.

* * *

 

When they stop for lunch, Seungcheol gets right back to the eye-fucking. If Jihoon thought they were ‘eye fucking’ before, then they must be engaged in hardcore ocular pornography at this point.

Seungcheol’s gaze is penetrative and heavy and far more intense than anyone has ever looked at a scrawny bank manager in a sweater vest and a wrinkled suit before. Despite his amusement, Jihoon’s struggling to make sense of if all.

Jihoon is...Jihoon, he's seen himself in the mirror. He has intimate knowledge of his many and varied faults. And ok, maybe he has his good points too, he has a decent bone structure and his skin is clear most of the time; his one great victory throughout adolescence. He's smart, he's got the whole cute as a button look down, he has good hygiene, a flawless credit history and a sarcastic remark for every possible occasion.

But none of those things are particularly impressive or interesting when you put them up against Seungcheol. Seungcheol the Mercurial, the enigmatic criminal, the handsome thief. Jihoon is surprised there aren't waiting lists of people who want to fuck him.

A single thought strikes clean through Jihoon's mind: Seungcheol did say he liked his pert little ass….

With that in mind, Jihoon decides to test a hypothesis. He deliberately drops his fork on the ground, and stands up to retrieve it, noting how Seungcheol's eyes trail him discreetly. Then he can practically feel Seungcheol’s gaze burning on his back, following the sway of his hips as he bends down—ludicrously slow—to pick up his fork.

 _My god_ , Jihoon thinks, _my ass is magic._

Jihoon savours the victory as he returns to his seat, but when their eyes meet he freezes at the expression on Seungcheol’s face. His brow is furrowed, his lips are parted, and — there is no better word for it — he looks ravenous, like it is taking all of his control not to swipe the table clear, pin Jihoon to it, and have his way with him.

The strange intimacy of the situation is making Jihoon’s skin tingle. It’s heady, commanding Seungcheol’s attention like this, and Jihoon takes a perverse pleasure not just in the way Seungcheol’s unblinking eyes skate across his face but in the fact that he himself is being completely out of character.

When it comes time to order, he’s orders a cappuccino instead of his usual black coffee, just so that he can slowly lick the foam off his top lip. And he smiles behind his cup as Seungcheol practically convulses in his seat.

He'd be lying if he says he doesn't enjoy this, acting like a total cock-tease. He figures he's earned it. Wanting Seungcheol has been a frustrating, agonizing, ‘ _slide two fingers into himself in the shower because he can't stop thinking about it’_ affair _._ But now that the shoe is on the other foot, that it's _Seungcheol_ suffering, Jihoon finds he likes the waiting. The hum of it, the slow summer burn.

Jihoon’s not sure if somebody could die of blue balls. He was beginning to think he could be a pioneer in the field, but Seungcheol might very well be the first to actually achieve it.

Yet for all of the coy tormenting from afar, there is a palpable hesitance to actually interact with one another. As though there is a precarious balance between them that neither of them wants to upset.

* * *

 

They’re driving down a long stretch of highway, when Mingyu leans over to whisper to Vernon, in a way that he probably thinks is stealthy. It's not stealthy, it's neither stealthy nor quiet. They can all hear him whisper “Why are Jihoon and Seungcheol not talking?”, and that kind of defeats the purpose of stealthiness.

Seungcheol glares at him in the rear view mirror until he whimpers and ducks his head and silence prevails once more.

Seungcheol is very good at that—the glaring until people go away or do what you want. As someone who's listened politely to far too many conversations he didn't want to be part of in his life, Jihoon can see the appeal of that skill.

Jihoon wonders what it takes to _be_ Seungcheol. Since Seungcheol has entered his orbit, his life has become a roller-coaster that he can't get off of. Some of the stuff that happens to them he wouldn't even believe if Hollywood filmed it.

He’s managed to stay afloat so far, so he can’t help but wonder: in another life, could he have been a criminal? Could he too have been a smooth-tongued criminal, sharply dressed, with a smile that could slice deeper than a shuriken. He thinks he could enjoy this crazy-ass side of criminality. The ability to work and live outside the rules, to do literally anything he can think of…it must be a thrill like no other.

He may have been angry with Seungcheol for the sudden criminal direction in his life, but he can’t deny that this road trip got him out of a job he hated and his own suffocated descent into the life he had tried to avoid.

* * *

 

The low fuel warning signal flashes, and Wonwoo pulls in at the next gas station to fill up on petrol. When Seungcheol jumps out of the van to pay, Vernon uses his absence to poke at the tension further.

He leans across from the back seat and nudges Jihoon in the shoulder. “So—uhm. Couldn’t help but notice that things seem to be pretty chilly between you and the boss.”

“I think the boss is angry with us.” Mingyu speaks up.

“You can say that again.” Wonwoo drawls.

“I think the boss is angry with us.” Mingyu says again.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Wonwoo groans into his hand.

Jihoon hums thoughtfully. Seungcheol _has_ been morose all day.

He thinks it’s possible the tension between the two of them has been spilling over into Seungcheol’s behaviour, because he is clearly working through some stuff. Pent up aggression or homicidal rage or _something._ He might have been doing a good job of acting nonchalant around Jihoon, but he’s a moody motherfucker with the three idiots. He’s a lot more snappy than usual, and even when they’re not being annoying he treats them with all the warmth of a barracuda.

Jihoon can't blame him because the air between them is cold enough that Antarctic scientists could set up research stations with it. They aren't outright rude to each other. In fact, being mad at each other has created a sort of stilted formality. But Jihoon knows that it's wrong, all wrong, and when Seungcheol doesn't even smile at him anymore, he feels his gut clench.

Seungcheol’s hasn't tried any of his usual flirtatiously tinged bickering either. He's cordial to the point where every one of his polite _pleases_ and _thank yous_ are like metal scraping the backs of Jihoon's teeth. To the point where Jihoon is spoiling for another one sided pillow fight.

He’d thought their change in behaviour had gone unnoticed, but the dissonance was evident enough that even the three idiots commented on it.

“Oh, you know. Sometimes people get angry and say things to each other. They just need to take a step back and evaluate. Nothing to worry your little head about.” He says, in what he hopes is an appropriately casual tone of voice.

Vernon's eyebrow goes up, mouth going soft in a way that Jihoon knows means he's unhappy about something. So _that_ was clearly the wrong answer. Vernon looks like he wants to ask a question but isn't sure how to phrase it. It takes him a few tries before he says: “What happened last night?”

Wonwoo draws up a snort. “Or, more appropriately—what _didn’t_ happen? You guys seemed _pretty_ chummy up until we interrupted you in your room.”

“Oh—did we ruin the mood?” Vernon says sheepishly.

 _No. We did a good job of ruining it ourselves,_ Jihoon doesn't say out loud.

“Are Jihoon and Seungcheol getting a divorce?” Mingyu stage whispers from the back seat.

Vernon gasps and shudders like he's trying to shake the idea off of him. “No, no. No that--you can’t.”

Jihoon rubs a hand over his face and smothers what wants to be a laugh because this is _actually_ ridiculous and weird. He's worried God has moved the posts where 'weird' used to be while he wasn't looking. It's barely been a few days and he's slowly forgetting what it's like to live a life where weird things don't happen. Where he doesn’t keep getting 'involved' in ridiculous conversations and events.

“If they are getting divorced, I want to go live with Jihoon.” Mingyu demands dramatically.

Vernon pulls a face that seems to agree.

“Yeah, me three!” Wonwoo pipes up.

Jihoon decides that this tangent in the conversation needs to stop, now. “We’re not getting a divorce! Don’t you have some puzzles or colouring-in books to keep you occupied?”

“Pinky promise that you’re not getting a divorce.” Vernon says, holding out his baby finger.

“I’m not pinky promising shit.” Jihoon yells before he can stop himself.

Vernon’s lower lip starts trembling, Wonwoo frowns (harder) and Mingyu starts wailing in the back seat.

Jihoon briefly contemplates lobotomy. "Can-it, you three," he says, holding his up a hand to stop the waterworks. "I'd rather skip the emotional manipulation, thanks all the same." he adds.

There are a few drawn out moments of silence before Vernon is nudging him again. “If you guys _are_ going to split, can we stay with you at least? And maybe spend Christmas, Birthdays and every other weekend with Seungcheol?” Vernon reasons, like that's perfectly logical.

 _Why does Seungcheol get Christmas?_ Jihoon thinks incredulously. The unfairness of it all, really. “Why do you want to stay with me?”

Vernon grins at him, one of those silly, half-demented, childish grins. “You’re nicer.” He says, and the others hum in agreement. After serious consideration, Jihoon decides gloating to Seungcheol about that would be ridiculous.

“Well. That’s sweet of you to say, but don’t tell Seungcheol that. He’ll be very sad.” Jihoon says, then he pulls a horrified face at himself in the window. What is he saying?  

 _Of course Seungcheol won’t be sad._ He’ll be a rich, hot, single millionaire thief and Jihoon will be a struggling single parent saddled with three child men.

The courts will obviously give custody of the kids to Jihoon, because Seungcheol’s job hardly provides a stable home environment! He’ll be lucky if he sees a penny out of Seungcheol in the intervening years, so that’s no more designer suits for Jihoon and the kids can say goodbye to that trip to Tokyo Disney they’ve probably set their little hearts on!

Are thieves even accountable for child support? Probably not. It’s not like they disclose the amount they steal to the government, so it’s likely Seungcheol doesn’t pay taxes either.

Well that’s just fucking typical, isn’t it! Seungcheol’s going to be speeding away to a single life of luxury in his newly acquired speedboat while Jihoon has to bulk buy groceries from the Value Mart to feed Vernon, Mingyu and Wonwoo. Seungcheol will get to be the fun, weekend dad who lets them eat chocolate for breakfast, lunch and dinner all the while, Jihoon will be the boring daily parent who stresses about the importance of healthy snacks like fucking carrot sticks. Who's going to be the one who and has to cart them off to the bloody dentist when their teeth rot? Jihoon is who!

Will weekend-only-dad Seungcheol help with the homework? _Noooo,_ that will all be down to Jihoon. He dreads the day he'll have to teach Mingyu the times tables, the man will obviously require one-on-one tutoring. He should probably look into reserving that tutor now actually, the private tutoring scene is pretty cut throat. But can he even afford a private tutor? Come to think of it, how will he afford Vernon's Violin lessons? Or that school trip Wonwoo will want to go on, because all his friends are going.

Jihoon's going to be so rushed off his feet, so physically and emotionally exhausted he won't have any time to himself. His looks will suffer no doubt. How will he get back on the dating scene after raising three grown men? Seungcheol won't have a problem, _obviously._ Not with his speedboat and sex-god looks. He'll probably land himself a younger, hotter husband before the ink dries on the divorce papers. One that the three idiots will love because they're fun and trendy and don't believe in bed times! One that will look down his nose at Jihoon when he comes to pick the kids up wearing his pyjamas.

Don't fucking judge him, it tough being a single parent!

WHY IS THIS HIS LIFE NOW? THESE AREN’T EVEN HIS KIDS!

It's amazing where internal monologue tangents can take you.

Wonwoo nudges him in the shoulder then, and Jihoon blinks as he tries to regain his conversational bearings. “Listen. Maybe you don’t want to talk about what happened. But Seungcheol is clearly in a mood and it’s getting worse. Trust us—that’s not good for anyone. I don’t care what you have to do—fix it.” He demands.

Jihoon pulls a face, an 'are you serious?' face. But Wonwoo just gives him more of that placid encouragement. Like he has faith in Jihoon and expects him to sort the whole thing out.

Which is insane, Jihoon has no idea why everyone seems to be suffering under the delusion that he can fix everything just by talking things out with of manly patting and promises of ice-cream.

“There’s nothing to fix!” Jihoon says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Me and Seungcheol are not getting a divorce! We’re not even married in the first place and I refuse to shop in Value mart!” Jihoon points out, though whether any of them will take any notice is debateable because Vernon and Mingyu are conspiring in the back seat, whispering possibly about custodial rights?

Jihoon twists in the seat, and manages to scowl at all of them, like they're disobedient children who are all taking advantage of him. Which really isn't so terribly far from the truth.

Seungcheol returns to the car then, and Jihoon scowls at him too, just on principle.

“Everything—okay?” Seungcheol asks cautiously. He’s clearly hesitant about climbing back into the van when Jihoon is busy scowling for Korea.

“What did I tell you about leaving me alone with these guys!” He snaps, with a faint air of abandonment.

Seungcheol’s face does something odd, mouth softening in a smile that's strange and unfamiliar, and Jihoon has to replay that sentence back, to work out what he said.

Then he realises Seungcheol’s _just--happy._ Happy that Jihoon’s shouting at him. That _shouting_ is better than the silence and Seungcheol’s welcoming any communication with open arms.

“I’m sorry. I forgot.” Seungcheol says quietly.

Jihoon makes a dismissive sound. "Don’t think--" He begins, then he remembers that kids are eavesdropping, watching him and Seungcheol like they're waiting to take social cues from them. “Just get in would you.” He mutters, turning away to stare through the windscreen. He catches Seungcheol's smirk from the corner of his eye.

__

* * *

 

When they arrive at their next stop for the night, it’s a little earlier than the check in time allows so they have to haul up in a roadside bar.

The entire place is gritty and smoky and faithful to a cliché biker bar scene. Jihoon feels a little out of place in this setting wearing a suit and tie, but the place looks to be filled with all manner of hardened criminals, so a serial killing-cult inviting-psycho thief-corpse desecrating-arsonist such as himself should slip under the radar.

He’s going to have a drink or two — or ten, or however many it takes to forget his misery and build enough Dutch courage to approach Seungcheol. The hangover, and everything that will come after it, is Future Jihoon’s problem.

Seungcheol leaves Jihoon in the care of the three idiots while he goes to reserve the rooms. Mingyu bribes his way into a backroom poker game with a frightening combination of soulful Panda eyes and a towering presence.

Jihoon can see where Vernon has talked his way into a pool game with some of the bikers loitering around the table; they’re clearly going to be here for some time, and Jihoon sees the flash of green as wagers are struck. It's anyone's guess who'll win.

“I need a drink. Don’t run away or whatever.” Wonwoo says flatly and wanders off.

Jihoon takes a seat on one of the high stools by the bar and waves at the bartender. It’s not a very authoritative _‘Serve me now or I’ll knock your teeth in!’_ wave, it’s more of a tentative _‘Hello, serve me—if you have time. No rush!’_ wave. So the bartender just waves back, like Jihoon’s a child on a school bus off on his first day of school.

“The rooms aren’t ready yet, you don’t mind holding out here for a while.” Seungcheol says from somewhere to his left.

Jihoon continues to stare straight ahead, ignoring Seungcheol pointedly and obviously, in a way even Mingyu would have noticed. It’s the first time Seungcheol’s spoken to him directly all day, but Jihoon’s still angry, and he wants Seungcheol to know it.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, like Jihoon's being unnecessarily stubborn. “So, I take it you’re still not talking to me huh.” He says simply.

Jihoon makes his miserable point with silence.

“Is it just me your mad with or are you mad with the whole gang, cause I haven’t heard you talk much with anyone today.” Seungcheol asks. It sounds more like a fact than an accusation. But his voice is flatter than usual, as if he's carefully beaten all the emotion out of it.

Jihoon continues to studiously ignore him. “Can we narrow down what you’re mad at? Is it because I didn’t tell you about the news report? The kidnapping? Or is it just my general presence.”

Seungcheol’s face looks so earnest that Jihoon is quickly losing the urge to punch him. It's so unfair. Nevertheless, he doesn't dignify his clever deduction with an answer.

“Jihoon, c’mon. Please talk to me.” Seungcheol's voice is soft and wrecked, and so close to Jihoon's ear it gives him goose bumps. He hates how much Seungcheol affects him.

“Fine.” Seungcheol sighs, shaking his head as if he's disappointed in Jihoon. Then suddenly he's up in Jihoon's face, trying to catch Jihoon’s eye, but he won’t allow it. “We’re going to have to establish an alternative method of communication first, before you begin your vow of silence.” Seungcheol says, voice hard, his hand firm on Jihoon’s jaw.

Jihoon raises his chin defiantly, reluctantly meeting his eyes. “Fine. From now on, when I clap my hands once, it means yes. When I clap my hands twice, it means no. Reasonable?” Jihoon offers.

“Fine, we’ll play it your way.” Seungcheol says, overly patient. Jihoon can hear the terseness in his voice.

The unspoken communication doesn’t go as well as he hoped.

“Do you want a beer?” Seungcheol asks after a few minutes.

**Clap.**

“Yes?” Seungcheol translates. “Cool, two beers please.” He says, giving a little wave to the bartender. The bartender disappears under the counter, comes back with a couple of cold ones, and Seungcheol presses one into Jihoon's hand.

“Cheers, Sweetpea,” Seungcheol says over the noise, and they clink bottles.

They sip on their beers in silence for a while, then Seungcheol clears his throat, “Would you like a bag of peanuts?”

**Clap.**

“Yes then.” He translates again with a nod. “A bag of peanuts please.” He calls out to the bartender again.

They share the peanuts in crunchy silence, but Jihoon is all to aware of the probing look Seungcheol is giving him.

“Do you want a silly straw to sip your beer?” Seungcheol asks suddenly.

Jihoon huffs in righteous indignation for a full minute, and when he finally beats about to a reluctant answer, he claps his hand twice.

**Clap, Clap.**

Seungcheol grins. “ _Yes, yes_. Understood.” He salutes, a glint of victory in his eyes. “Can I get a silly straw for my friend to sip his beer?” He gestures to the bemused bartender. “My friend wants a silly-straw for his beer please. He’s too shy to ask for one himself.” He enunciates each word so everyone in a ten-foot radius can hear him.

Jihoon cuts his eyes to his, sharply. Seungcheol gives him an innocent look and mouths “what?” but accepts the straw from the bartender and pokes it through the top of Jihoon’s beer bottle. He even bends it at a jaunty angle for Jihoon and all.

“There you go, one silly straw for you.” He guffaws, red-faced, at his own drollery, and Jihoon takes the moment to picture what the man would look like with a black eye. Jihoon has a good imagination that way.

It’s clearly a tactic to get him to break his vow and yell, but Jihoon’s not biting.

He drags his beer closer, listens to it grate its way across the counter, and shoves the straw in his mouth. He’s a grown man for fucks sake, sipping beer through a straw is humiliating, (but—actually useful because the beer is really cold and he has sensitive teeth and who doesn’t enjoy watching their beverage twirl through a silly straw? Shut the fuck up!)

Seungcheol finds this endlessly amusing and can't stop laughing. He's gripping the bar top and Jihoon wants to punch him and give him a blowjob, perhaps not in that order. He quashes down the feeling as he tries to gather the remains of his personal dignity. Said dignity flies right out the window when he purses his lips, takes another tentative sip through the straw and Seungcheol doubles over with renewed laughter.

Jihoon is pissed off, he really is, but Seungcheol’s melodious mirth is wearing away at his resolve. He can feel the corners of his mouth turning up, despite his valiant efforts to stay angry. He can feel his cheeks flush as the drink kicks in, but he's not as drunk he as needs to be to flirt with Seungcheol. He rubs his hands over his eyes, and then he goes still as Seungcheol plants a hand on his shoulder. He’s looking at Jihoon with a strange warmth; Jihoon can feel his face redden even further.

“Only you can pull off adorable and angry at the same time. It’s so cute.” Seungcheol says, snorting inelegantly as tears squeeze out of his eyes.

Jihoon ducks his head and fiddles with his watch, aware all the while that Seungcheol’s smile has grown positively demonic. “Shut up. You’re a jerk.” He breaks finally.

“Wow, that didn’t last long.” Seungcheol says dryly. The sarcasm is unfamiliar, but it’s tempered with a fond, teasing warmth.

"My desire to have sex with you is decreasingly rapidly, you asshole," Jihoon says.

Seungcheol leans in close to whisper in his ear, dark and husky. "Look me in the eye and say that."

Jihoon mentally counts to five before turning to look at him directly. His eyes settle on Seungcheol’s, glittering with sparks of colourful light in the dark. "Damn it," says Jihoon.

Seungcheol takes another long sip of beer before placing his bottle down onto the bar with a soft clink. “You need to lighten up. Learn to let go.” he says, punctuating his words with a jab to Jihoon’s chest.

“Don’t touch me.” The indignation makes his voice curt, his face now red.

Seungcheol makes a noise that sounds a little like he's tried to cough through his nose, and Jihoon's eyes narrow. “Right, right sorry. Save all the touching for your dreams about me.” Seungcheol says, and oh, are they joking about it now? Have they crossed the thorny boundaries and reached the cathartic point where they can laugh about his sleepy sexual misdemeanours and inappropriate thoughts?

Jihoon glares, petulant, because it's one thing for him to feel he's acting like a lovesick teenager, and it's another to have Seungcheol call him on it.

Jihoon tries to turns away, because nothing ends a conversation faster than turning your back on someone and ignoring them. He's not prepared for Seungcheol's fingers to catch his arm and prevent the movement, not just preventing it but stopping it and tugging him back the other way.

“Okay—I guess we can’t joke about it yet,” His drawl seems lazy against the driving beat of the background music. “But if it makes you feel any better, I jerked off listening to you dream about me.”

Jihoon stutters out a breath as Seungcheol glides his fingers down Jihoon’s cheek, curling them beneath his chin. “Hearing you moan my name, writhing around on the bed—was the hottest thing ever. I know your hands were tied down—but you were trying so hard to touch yourself, it was agonizing for me to watch. I had to jerk off.” He says, his eyes roaming over Jihoon’s face.

Jihoon’s iron will seems to dislodge a bit; he swallows and very nearly uses an index finger to pull his collar away from his neck like an overheated cartoon character.

Seungcheol continues with his verbal debauchery, “I was so close to untying you and fucking you through the mattress you were making such filthy, gorgeous noises.”

Jihoon’s mouth has gone very, very dry. He blames the salted peanuts. When he opens it to speak, all that comes out is a high-pitched whimpering sound. He clears his throat and tries again but Seungcheol presses a finger over his lips to stop him.

“Just think about that while I go check on our rooms.”

 _Motherfucker,_ Jihoon thinks, and orders another drink. And if he orders another silly straw too, nobody is there to see it.

* * *

 

Seungcheol hasn’t been gone long when Vernon slumps down in the stool next to Jihoon, and jostles him out of his reverie.

When Jihoon turns slightly to face him, his face falls. Vernon lacks his usual cheer, he looks saddened even.

“What’s up?” Jihoon finds himself asking.

“Nuffin.” Vernon mumbles sullenly.

Jihoon would leave it at that, but Vernon's disappointment face is unbearable, like someone stole all his lunch money. Jihoon playfully nudges him in the shoulder. “Come on, you can tell me.”

Vernon sighs, “I got cheated out of my cash by those guys over there.” He says, jerking his head towards a group of men standing around the dimly lit pool table.

Jihoon looks over at a couple of guys by the pool table who've been eying him nastily since he walked in. “How?”

Vernon shrugs his shoulder pathetically. “They rigged the game. Made me think it was a fair. I bet and—I lost.” He adds, rubbing the back of his neck.

Jihoon favours him with a pitying smile. “How much did they get?”

“A couple of thousand dollars. It was my only spending money from the heist that I can have fun with.” Vernon mumbles, sounding a little petulant and suddenly young enough to tug at Jihoon’s heartstrings just a bit; poor kid is clearly embarrassed.

“Well, let that be a lesson for you Vernon.” Jihoon says, giving Vernon a stern look. It’s really not his business and he shouldn’t get involved, no matter how sad Vernon is looking at the moment. These kids seem to attract trouble around every corner, Jihoon is beginning to think they could get into trouble on their own in an empty room.

He chances a glance at the group of men by the pool table. There are three of them, standing there, talking loudly and animatedly. When one of them points at Vernon and throws his head back and laughs, Jihoon gets angry.

He continues the grand traditions of making decisions on the spur of the moment that will probably fuck up his life, and the lives of everyone he's ever met by announcing: “Nobody steals my sons lunch money. Get up Vernonie, let’s get your money back!”

"Really?"

"Yes." Because that’s what Jihoon does now, he fixes things, and for some reason Vernon believes it with a sort of fervent child-like certainty, that Jihoon is incapable of disappointing him.

Jihoon jumps off the barstool and strides towards the table. He’s feeling just reckless enough after his non-confrontation with Seungcheol that getting into a fight seems like a decent idea.

Not a physical fight. He's not that self-destructive. He just plays his soft and small cards well, makes himself out to be like some kind of newbie at the game.

"Hey fish," one of the guys smirks when Jihoon walks up to the table. "Want to play a game?"

Jihoon fakes a giggle because he’s feeling a bit dumb and a lot braver than he should. “Uhh—sure. I’ve played pool before. But I’m a little rusty. You’ll go easy on me, yeah?” He says, in a deceptively timid voice.

The man, quite a tall chap, actually, well-muscled and looking like he’d seen more than one fight in his day, takes to the challenge quite happily, much to Jihoon’s delight. “I’m a little rusty myself. Say, how about we make things interesting. $500 dollars to play in and I’ll double your money if you make two shots in a row.” The man suggests.

“Oh—uhmm—I dunno. That’s an awful lot of money. He-he.” Jihoon pretends to deliberate, purposely picking up the pool stick from the wrong end. “How about, I pay in the $500 dollars and you quadruple the money if I win?”

The guy turns back to his friend and grins, and when he looks at Jihoon again, he knows that he can't lose. Not to this prissy looking guy with a three piece suit, the small frame, and the pianist fingers. Not to a guy who looks like an unholy breed of Tom Ford bank manager. At least, that's what would be running through Jihoon's mind if he were in the man's place, and the man doesn't disappoint.

“Deal.”

They play a game. Jihoon beats him at the game. They play another and he wipes the floor with him actually, and doubles the money they won off Vernon.

He should stop while he’s ahead, but—that’s not enough for him apparently.

Riding high on his victory, Jihoon says something derogatory about the man's pool skills and maybe his face as well. Jihoon may have also referenced the guys mother in a completely unnecessary 'yo momma' joke.

So, a fight.

It doesn’t go down like he hopes, he wasn’t really aiming for anything physical but now he’s standing on top of the pool table, throwing pool balls at the mans head while Vernon fends off a second man with a pool stick.

Panda eyed Mingyu drops his poker game and comes over to break up the fight at one stage. He tries reasoning with the big, angry men shaking their fists at Jihoon and Vernon. But Mingyu, not known for his sparkling personality and friend-making skills, opens the conversation by immediately threatening one of them with their own set of Panda eyes.

And then it's a brawl for real, and Jihoon is ridiculously, deliriously happy. He's in his element. He's punching and kicking, waving pool cues around like they’re fucking light sabres and he’s General Grievous, and making mayhem the way he’s never done before, the way he was probably born to do.

Wonwoo’s standing by the bar—eating peanuts for a while, watching the chaos unfold until a man gets a lucky hit on Mingyu’s face and suddenly he’s incensed. “Nobody hits Mingyu but me!” he announces, joining the fight.

Jihoon didn’t think Wonwoo had it in him, but he fairs—quite well, actually. He’s like a cyclone, punching, kicking, even scratching at men at an alarming rate, no finesse in his motions; he is frankly reminding Jihoon of a terrifyingly undomesticated monkey.

 **“STOP!”** A voice booms through the bar.

Everyone freezes. Vernon with his fist mid punch; Mingyu holding one guy in a chokehold; Wonwoo pulling at another mans hair; and Jihoon riding a pool cue like it’s a broomstick. (He was attempting, with a combination of skill and judgement, that Matrix 2, stick twirling kick scene—he failed to factor in the effects of gravity)

Then suddenly Seungcheol’s there, all tight mouth and hard eyes, and expression of quietly banked rage. Jihoon swallows hard, because there's no reason that should be sexy.

“What the hell is going on? Did you guys start a brawl? This is ridiculous. Violence isn’t the answer!” Seungcheol gasps incredulously, with all the hypocritical indignity of a man who once burst into a bank with a rifle and a ski mask.  

“They started it.” Jihoon says quietly, but stops when he can almost see Seungcheol’s shoulders tensing up in preparation to get really, _really_ mad.

“Get down from there now!” He orders Jihoon, before spinning on the three idiots. “I leave you guys alone for ten minutes and this—THIS is what I come back to? Jesus Christ, you’re grown men. You need to solve your disputes with words and reasoning—not anger. I’m disappointed with—“ His sermon breaks off as one of the opposing brawlers creeps up behind him and smashes a glass bottle over the back of his head.

“OH FUCK!” Jihoon gasps and Vernon, Mingyu and Wonwoo wince.

Seungcheol doesn’t go down though—he’s sturdy like a missile silo. Seungcheol turns from being relaxed and languid, to all tight and pinched looking again, his eyes lowering into a dangerous look. It’s not his usual cool dangerous, though; this looks wilder, nastier, _sexier,_ Jihoon’s cock helpfully supplies.

He turns around slowly, so slowly, to look at the man behind him, still brandishing the broken neck of the bottle.

Seungcheol growls, yes _growls,_ which has the man tilting his head and arching his brows a bit. It is positively wicked sounding, honestly, low and throaty as his hands balls up into tight fists. “Did you just—smash a bottle over my head when my back was turned?” He asks, sounding surprisingly calm.

The man sneers in response and his hands came up, shoving at Seungcheol’s clean, pressed shirt.

Seungcheol’s eyes narrow further, his jaw works silently for a moment. “Please, don’t do that. I don’t want to fight.” He says, and there's a dangerous edge to his voice now.

The man ignores the request and chest bumps Seungcheol, as if daring him to attack.

“Oh—Shit.” The three idiots say in unison and Jihoon braces himself for...something. Seungcheol doesn’t disappoint. His anger is like the accidental brush of a finger on a red hot stove: startling, unexpected, disastrously painful. The next minute is something spectacular with watch.

The guy throws a punch --

\-- and Seungcheol flips him over onto the pool table with a crash. Another man throws himself at Seungcheol, and Seungcheol takes his head and slams it against the side of the pool table.

A third man swings his fist and Seungcheol’s fist connects solidly into the man’s throat, causing him to make a choked noise and goes sprawling over his bar stool, crashing into the nearby booth and sending glassware flying and shattering to the ground as he clutches his throat.

Jihoon stands there dumbly for a few seconds, all speechlessness and gawping. Then, without thinking, rushes over to Seungcheol and wraps his arms tightly around him in a hug. After about thirty seconds he realizes that this is _perhaps_ not normal behaviour, although Seungcheol _is_ hugging him back. He isn't sure what to do. Aside from the obvious - only is it obvious? He's never seen anything like this before. He reluctantly draws away and tries not to shift awkwardly.

Seungcheol looks him up and down evaluatively. “Are you okay?”

Jihoon nods absently, thumbing at Seungcheol’s jacket, staring at his lips. “You’re the one who got hit on the back of the head.” His voice comes out muted, croaky. He clears his throat and tries to sound like an adult again. “Are you okay?” he murmurs, reaching up to brush the fleck of glass clinging to the back of Seungcheol’s hair, but by this time the enemy brawlers have re-grouped and are angrier, and one of them grabs Jihoon and yanks him aside.

Jihoon shoves at him. "Don't touch me," he says.

Seungcheol punches the handsy guy in the face. "Don't touch him," he says.

The man is knocked out cold because Seungcheol has a right hook that could take out an alligator and Jihoon curses himself under his breath when he feels his cock begin to stir.

Seungcheol adjusts his stance, ready to move quickly even though the men see him do it and are prepared to counter any action he takes. “I didn’t want to do that, I didn’t want to fight—but you guys pissed me off.” Seungcheol warns.

One guy holds his hands up defensively. “We don’t have beef with you! We just wanted to teach fun-size there a lesson.”

Seungcheol is clearly not even trying to hold a smile as he follows the mans pointed finger straight to where Jihoon is standing. “Why? What did he do?” He asks. He keeps his hands loose at his sides, projecting his intention to cooperate with the nice thugs holding bottles and sticks. But his demeanour is anticipatory, not cowed.

One of the men Jihoon insulted steps forward. “He said my momma was so fat, she takes her selcas in panoramic mode!”

“Jihoon—is this true?” Seungcheol sounds amused, but not surprised.

Jihoon pouts. “Yeah, but--they stole Vernon’s lunch money!”

He suspects that he's going to be ever so slightly embarrassed about that later. Some time when they're not in the path of angry, violent thugs. Which one by one, start attacking Seungcheol with all the enthusiasm they had previously focused on him.

Jihoon feels a burgeoning sense of emasculation when Seungcheol ushers him to safety, but chooses to be aroused, instead. He can't help it really; Seungcheol’s white knight strategy gives him a lovely warm feeling inside.

Especially when he witnesses Seungcheol kick the rest of the men’s asses in a similar fashion as the first group, with the deadly accuracy he's clearly accumulated from his years as a criminal and perhaps his military background. Watching him makes Jihoon's mouth go dry because— _damn_ , those are some fine skills.

“That's it! I’m calling the cops!” The bartender shouts out, reaching for the phone. Seungcheol gets there first, grabbing the man by the scruff of his collar and hauling him over the bar.

“And telling them what?” Seungcheol demands in that dangerous, low voice.

The bartender spreads his hands, projecting waves of submission. “Uhhh—that a good Samaritan helped me clear out the bar of some rowdy customers and then went on his merry way—free drinks on the house?”

“Good answer.” Seungcheol growls, before shoving the man back. He signals for the three idiots to head to the exit, takes Jihoon by the hand, fingers laced, and leads the way out of the bar.

Jihoon follows readily, keyed up with adrenaline and want. He'd sorely tempted to climb up Seungcheol’s frame, lick the sweat from his temples, and rip the buttons off his shirt, witnesses be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) If you don't like smut, you may want to tune out next chapter.  
> 2) Feedback is appreciated. Hope you enjoy reading.


	8. Appraisal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally.

 

Seungcheol’s keyed up, he's two hundred miles per hour.

First, he’d broke the speed limit getting them from the bar and back to the motel. Then, he’d shouldered his way through the queue at the reception desk, walking right up to the clerk and sliding over his credit card — "I need my reservation—now!", he'd growled.

The clerk fumbled around nervously for a set of room keys, clearly disturbed by the murderous expression on Seungcheol’s face.

Seungcheol glanced over his shoulder at Jihoon, graced him with a smile that was half apology, half wolfish impatience. And knowing just what he was impatient for made Jihoon go hot all over.

Now they’re walking briskly out of the lobby with the three idiots in tow.

Jihoon’s shaking like he's discovered how to take candy intravenously. He can't for the life of him tell if it's excited shaking or terrified shaking. It's some sort of emotional vibration.

“Here.” Seungcheol says, handing over a set of keys to Wonwoo. “Only two suites were available. One of you will have to nap on the couch. I don’t care who. And don’t even think about disturbing us.” He spits, before exchanging a wry look with Jihoon.

Wonwoo in turn exchanges a wry look with Mingyu. And Vernon tries to exchange a wry look with a random stranger, but gets a confused look for his efforts.

“So, what time are we checking out at tomorrow?” Vernon calls out to them, but Seungcheol’s not even listening, he’s wrapping an hand around Jihoon’s wrist and guiding him down the corridor.

The air feels heavy and thick around them. The minute they round the corner, they lock eyes and that’s all it takes. They tumble against one another, kissing hard and frantic, as if the world’s about to end.

How the hell Seungcheol manages to unlock the door when he’s got Jihoon pinned against it, he’ll never know, but soon they’re stumbling backwards into the bedroom.

Jihoon doesn’t even think, just shoves his hand in Seungcheol’s hair and lets himself be pushed into the room. Seungcheol kicks the door closed with his foot and drags Jihoon against him as they slam into the door. Seungcheol’s hands immediately drop to Jihoon’s waist, bringing their bodies together while he kisses Jihoon open-mouthed and filthy like he’s starving for it.

And Christ, his mouth is amazing. Jihoon wants it all over his body.

“Oh god Seungcheol! You were awesome. Back in that bar when you kicked those guys asses.” Jihoon says between kisses. With adrenaline still running high in his system, the words juggle their way up his throat without his permission. “You were—woah, so _cool.”_ It comes out sounding pathetic, high-schoolish. He feels himself flush.

“Thanks.” Seungcheol’s wry voice is muffled as he kisses a path down Jihoon’s neck.

“You were like, James Bond or something.” Jihoon whispers reverently, hands roaming over Seungcheol’s back and ass. “No—no, like Rambo actually!” He adds frantic hand gestures, in case the enthusiasm wasn't enough.

Seungcheol jerks his head up sharply, looking mildly confused. “There is a massive difference between their styles.” He notes, before he ducking down again, kissing at the dip in Jihoon’s throat.

“True—but you were like a hybrid between the two. Deadly, bruising force with panache. Kinda _like—Batman!”_ he gasps, as Seungcheol places biting kiss along the underside of his jaw.

Seungcheol laughs against Jihoon’s skin. “Batman?” he repeats, endlessly amused. “Look, I’m not complaining cause Batman is awesome. But how on earth is Batman’s style a combination of James Bond and Rambo?”

Jihoon huffs quietly. “Cause you were all suave—yet a bad ass mother fucker. Especially when you flipped that guy over the table.”

“Hmm, I suppose.” Seungcheol says, dragging his teeth over the bend of Jihoon’s throat, all hot breath and sharpness - and oh fuck, if Jihoon wasn't already hard that would have done it. “So, if I’m Batman—does that make you Robin?”

Jihoon looks at him, attempting a scowl, but it quickly dies off into a giddy laughter between them both. “Fine. I guess you were more like Jason Bourne.”

“Ohh—That’s a quality film.” Seungcheol nods emphatically.

“I know right! Paul Greengrass is one of my favourite directors!” Jihoon says, then realises they've veered wildly off topic, and this time he's pretty sure it's his fault and not Seungcheol's.  He grabs Seungcheol by the collar and re-initiates a kiss to get them back on track.

“I appreciate that comparison. But, I hope I’m at least hotter than Matt Damon?” he asks, dragging his teeth down Jihoon’s neck.

Jihoon shivers at the sensation, angling his hips upward and letting Seungcheol feel the hardness straining against his zip. “Oh god yes. You look nothing like him! Although your ears kinda stick out like his does.”

Seungcheol clearly doesn't appreciate the description, because his mouth does that angry pinching thing. Jihoon has secretly dubbed that his least attractive grumpy face “Can we get back to the part where you were complimenting my badasssery?”

Jihoon squeezes Seungcheol’s ass beneath his palms, flicking his tongue against his earlobe. “But, I like your ears. They’re cute.”

“Stop. You're lying. Really?” Seungcheol says, a little sheepish

Jihoon giggles and takes Seungcheol’s cheeks in his hands. “Yeah, they’re adorable. Every time I look at your face, my eyes are drawn to them.” he says breathily, brushing their noses together.

Seungcheol looks like he's still deciding whether to be confused or offended. Which is stupid because that was a compliment.  Seungcheol doesn't seem to think that's a compliment. “You’re eyes are drawn to them because they stick out and look ridiculous!” He practically whines.

Jihoon just stares at him. Something about that moment, about realizing that he’s learning Seungcheol, learning his body, his insecurities, feels significant.

“No, they don’t!” Jihoon strokes his hands up and down Seungcheol’s arms like he’s soothing a fractious animal.  “Honestly, there isn’t a single part of your body I don’t want to lick.” Jihoon says, and feels Seungcheol’s cock twitch between their bodies.

“Oh fuck. We can do that—that sounds great.” Seungcheol breathes raggedly against Jihoon’s cheek, nipping at his jaw. “We might need a rain-check on the licking for after I fuck your brains out.” He adds, and he starts pushing Jihoon towards the bed, unhooking his tie as he strides forward.

“We can do both! I’m great at multitasking.” Jihoon manages to say just as the back of his knees hit the mattress.

It starts in a blur of tongue and teeth and hands pulling at clothes. Jihoon isn’t sure how he’s lost his jacket (although he’s pretty damn sure Seungcheol ripped the seams in his haste) but he’s suddenly pressed into the mattress, Seungcheol hard and solid above him.

Seungcheol is stroking down Jihoon's chest, running a proprietary hand through his hair, cupping his ass, tugging his shirt out of his waistband so those clever thieving fingers can stroke his bare skin. Clever as they are, though, they are stymied by Jihoon's belt, and Seungcheol makes a faint, muffled noise of complaint into Jihoon's mouth.

Seungcheol leans back and starts unhooking his belt. He’s so wired up he keeps fumbling with the clasp, getting more and more frustrated by the second. “Fucking belts! I hate belts! I don’t know who invented them but I’m going to find them and kill them!”

“I think he or she is long dead Seungcheol. But you’re enthusiasm for this is really adorable.” Jihoon giggles. He reaches up to tug Seungcheol’s hands away. “Here—let me.” He whispers, nipping at Seungcheol’s chin. With nimble fingers, he works the belt buckle quickly, pulling it off and tossing it aside.

Seungcheol bends down, elbows braced around Jihoon’s head, and kisses him again, long and deep. Jihoon finds himself grinding up against Seungcheol’s thigh. It’s been more than six months. It’s been an embarrassingly long time, and the last time was rotten, a hurried handjob in a bar bathroom with a blind date he wasn’t remotely attracted too. It’s been forever, it feels like. Maybe longer. Since someone’s kissed him like this, holding his jaw in one hand, wet and sweet.

Seungcheol breaks away, shifting down Jihoon’s throat and neck, kissing and growling. Jihoon secretly loves the feral edge to it – it’s animalistic and rare and it gets Jihoon hot. Why he expected anything different from Seungcheol, he’s not sure.

Jihoon presses his palm to Seungcheol’s head, holding him steady and moaning out his enjoyment. He threads his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair and registers a slight tackiness there—like its matted with something. He pulls his hand away to find it smeared with blood.

“Oh my god! You’re bleeding!” Jihoon gasps.

“Huh?” Seungcheol pauses, taking in the smear of blood on Jihoon’s hand, then brushing the back of his head to check. Predictably, Seungcheol tries to brush off his injured state. “Oh, that. It’s nothing.“

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Seungcheol, your head is bleeding! We should find out why.”

Seungcheol sighs, like Jihoon is asking him to take out the trash, or wash the dishes or sacrifice his soul to appease an otherworldly spirit. “It’s just a little cut. I’m fine—please just-“

“No.” Jihoon says roughly, putting both hands on Seungcheol's shoulders and shoving him backwards. He clambers off the bed murmuring, “No. You’re injured. I’m gonna go borrow a med kit from Wonwoo and patch you up.”

“Jihoon. I’m a grown man. I don’t need a band-aid over my boo boos.” Seungcheol’s says, an inch away from pouting. Jihoon doesn’t give a flying fuck. He can make all the angsty faces he wants but he's injured and Jihoon didn’t attend that first aid seminar for nothing. He attended it for moments just like this. Well maybe not this _exactly,_ but this is close enough.

Seungcheol seems determined not to move from his position on the bed, until Jihoon eyeballs him. “Get in that bathroom now, Seungcheol. Or you’ll be sleeping on the couch again.” He threatens.

Seungcheol makes a face at him - which seems to involve a lot of confused eyebrows and unhappy mouth. It's adorable, and it looks ridiculous. But then he nods, awkwardly. “Okay.”

Jihoon doesn't wait for him to make another comment, but strides purposefully towards the door, and disappears into the hallway.

* * *

 

“Wonwoo!” Jihoon yells barging into the three idiots shared room. He opens his mouth to ask where Wonwoo has stashed the first aid kit, only to leave it hanging open when he examines the state of the room.

It’s a fucking mess. Both beds have been stripped and the mattresses have been upturned and propped against each other. It looks like some misshapen attempt at a fort. Dammit, he should have hired a babysitter for the night.

Jihoon's already knows who's to blame because he can hear Vernon and Mingyu’s ridiculous giggling coming from inside the fort. “What the fuck is going on here?” He snaps, gesturing to the room at large.

“Oh—thank god you’re here. Please help. Vernon and Mingyu wouldn’t stop jumping on the beds, so I took away the mattresses. But then they used the mattresses to build a fort, and they won’t let me in to their clubhouse!” Wonwoo provides from where he's currently sprawled on the couch like some sort of nineteenth century heroine.

Vernon’s head suddenly pops up from under the quilt. “Hey Jihoon. Come join us in the fort!”

“How come he gets to play in the fort and I don’t?” Wonwoo huffs.

Mingyu’s head pops out too. “Because you’re banned!” he declares.

“Yeah—this is the No-Wonu’s club house.” Vernon says, high fiving Mingyu.

Wonwoo’s doesn't comment on any of that but he clearly wants to. His face says he wants to comment on it, and that there may be swear words and punching and more Panda eyes involved.

“Get out here now and clean this shit up” Jihoon commands, and that is definitely his official 'do as you're told' voice.

There's a brief, slightly frenzied period of fort dismantling and tidying before the three of them are standing before Jihoon in the middle of the room.

“You three need to be on your best behaviour from now on. No jumping on beds. No fighting. No room service and—it that pay per view porn you’re watching?”

There is indeed a porn scene playing out on the television. Some clichéd office sex scene with lots of close ups of dicks and ass and inappropriate use of office supplies. A fact that Jihoon found himself somewhat irrationally angry about. That could be him right now, having upside down photocopier sex with Seungcheol if he wasn't here lecturing these idiots.

“You’re watching pay per view porn?” Jihoon says, and he thinks he does a pretty good incredulous face, with a side-order of heading towards pissed.

“It was Wonwoo’s idea!” Mingyu blurts out.

“Wonwoo?” Jihoon echoes. He looks at Wonwoo, who is suddenly fascinated by a stain in the carpet.

“Just wait till Seungcheol hears about this!” Jihoon warns, grabbing the remote and adjusting the child-lock settings on the television.

“Aww.” They all sulk in unison.

“Don’t aww me. You have five minutes to get in that bathroom, brush your teeth and dress for bed.” Jihoon says with conviction. And the steely determination in his voice would have paid off, had his pants not chosen that exact moment to fall down.

It’s only then he remembers; Seungcheol had stripped him of his belt earlier.

Jihoon tries his best to look professional without his pants on.  It's harder than you would have expected.

The three idiots burst out laughing, somehow regressing fifteen maturity years by seeing a grown man with pants pooled around his ankles.

It all feels rather worthy of a scowl, but Jihoon's not sure he has the energy for a good one. He hikes his pants back up as they continue to holler and roll on the floor.

Jihoon grumbles to himself all the way to the other end of the room, mostly about how he needs to stop letting these idiots take advantage of him. He roots around Wonwoo’s backpack for the first aid kit and confiscates a pack of cigarettes, handcuffs, a blindfold, a ball gag, three chocolate bars and a lewd magazine while he’s at it.

“What the fuck were you planning here Wonu?” He says carefully, prising the pages of the magazine open, some of them are stuck together, and Jihoon doesn't want to read anything into that. He really just doesn't want to read any of it full stop.

“I was keeping it—for a friend!” Wonwoo scrambles for an excuse.

Jihoon shakes his head. “Enough. I don’t want to hear a peep from this room. It’s lights out in five minutes.”

“But I’m not sleepy.” Mingyu strops.

Jihoon pauses at the door, “Maybe if you ask nicely, Wonwoo will read you a bedtime story.”

Wonwoo's angry face kind of spasms. “But you just confiscated my only book!” He argues.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Jihoon snaps, pulling the door shut behind him.

* * *

“Seungcheol?!” Jihoon calls out as he re-enters their motel room. It’s dark but for the light coming from the open bathroom door and he follows its glow across the room.

Jihoon steps through the door and first aid kit falls out of his suddenly nerveless fingers. He loses all his breath, in one punch of an exhale

_Oh—oh—my._

Jihoon’s not sure what he’s doing, but whatever the verbal equivalent of a keyboard smash is—he’s doing it. He thinks he’s doing some strange combination of choking and gurgling, because…

_Seungcheol is shirtless._

Jihoon doesn’t know where to look first. The naked chest, the firm stomach, the generous biceps, the toned forearms.  It’s actually a bit of a sensory overload.

Seungcheol’s hair is a little damp from where he’s tried to wash his wound and there’s a line of fresh blood trailing down the damp skin of his chest. It should be off-putting, but Jihoon wants nothing more than to bend over and lick a line up from the waist of Seungcheol’s pants to his lightly stubbled jawbone, tracing every dip and curve of muscle with his tongue.  When he closes his eyes, he can feel the heat of Seungcheol’s skin on his tongue, taste the saline bitterness of sweat, smell the natural musk of a male body. His mouth obligingly produces saliva at the thought, and he opens his eyes again.

He feels like he might be dreaming, because Seungcheol’s skin is actually steaming, like he's waiting to take part in some sort of men’s shaving commercial. Where the words ‘shaving commercial' could also be replaced by 'porn movie.'

Though Jihoon thinks that Seungcheol’s look is too high end for basic porn, despite the lips made for sucking cock- and now his brain has gone to a very distracting place, and he has to physically shake himself to make it stop.

“You-re—you’re shirtless,” he hears himself say, and it comes out a little surprised, possibly because he was holding it in so hard. It's like the words were determined to escape while he wasn't paying attention, whether he wanted them to or not.

Seungcheol straightens up from the mirror where he’s been trying to look at the back of his own head. “Yes, I am.” he offers in a neutral voice.

Of course, Seungcheol doesn't seem to be at all concerned about embarrassing Jihoon by flaunting his steamy, impossibly attractive bare torso right there in Jihoon's face. So if he’s not going to make a big deal about it, neither will Jihoon.

“Congratulations.” Jihoon says, and he doesn’t know why he says _that_.

_God, why am I so lame?_

The task of taking your shirt off is hardly worthy of praise, but maybe his brain feels like they should be celebrating this momentous occasion or something.

Seungcheol deliberately looks down at his bare chest, then back at Jihoon, amused. “I thought it was a good idea. I didn’t want to get blood on my shirt.” He gestures to the blood that has dripped down his back and now freckles the linoleum floor. “And—I thought you would appreciate the view.” He demonstrates said view by running a hand down his bare stomach.

Jihoon flummoxes, opens his mouth to say something rude -- he's not sure what, but it will be cutting -- but nothing comes. Instead, he dutifully looks. It would be rude not to appreciate the display Seungcheol is working so hard to provide.

“My face is up here Jihoon.” Seungcheol scolds, clicking his tongue, but his tone is more delighted than censorious.

Jihoon inclines his head coolly, but secretly he’s pleased. “You wanna try dialling down the ego a tad? Overconfidence is never attractive.” He snarks, pretending like he isn’t drooling at the sight in front of him.

Seungcheol, of course, knows it “Oh, I'm sorry. How rude of me. I’ll put my shirt back on then shall I?” He says, giving Jihoon a very credible pout.

It’s a blatant attempt at manipulation, the way he barely licks those plush lips, pouting the lower one out just a fraction. But, fuck… when Seungcheol looks at him through his lashes, eyes soft and hot with desire. How can Jihoon resist?

“That’s unnecessary. I’m sure bloodstains are a bitch to get out. You can keep it off.” He tries for nonchalance, but it’s this horrible fake nonchalance that Seungcheol can see straight through.

Seungcheol smiles, wildly photogenic and gorgeous, then goes back to examining the back of his head.

“Hard to patch yourself up when you can’t see what you’re doing. Let me have a look.” Jihoon fully enters the bathroom and turns Seungcheol around. There’s a small gash on the back of his head and one at his neck. Broken glass, he guesses.

Seungcheol just sighs under the attention, then stares wordlessly at Jihoon in the mirror as he starts organising the first aid kit out on the counter. It takes Jihoon a second to realise that Seungcheol's staring has a sort of impatience to it.

"Forgive me for wanting to take the broken glass out of your skin before we have sex." He's seriously tempted to take longer than necessary to prove a point, but what point would that be? Blue balls are fun? No thanks.

The height difference doesn’t help much with trying to clean the cut, so he directs Seungcheol to lean over the sink as he examines the cut. He’s well aware Seungcheol didn’t exactly invite him to help, but he’s glad he interfered anyway. Because bending Seungcheol over anything is an honest to God treat.

Jihoon grabs up the gauze and antiseptic from the first aid kit and starts cleaning the wound. “Sorry—this might sting a little.”

Seungcheol is holding still for it, but Jihoon can tell it hurts because he has his teeth clenched, and when Jihoon uses the tweezers to tug out a small shard of glass from his neck, he gives this long hissing snarl.

Jihoon, watching, gives a sympathetic wince. “I’m sorry you got injured in a fight I started.”

Seungcheol hums thoughtfully. “It’s fine. You were just trying to help Vernon and those guys had it coming.

Jihoon smiles, placing a couple of butterfly bandages over the cut. “I’m a little surprised with myself, if I’m being honest. I didn’t think I had it in me to lead this rough and tumble life.”

Seungcheol clears his throat pointedly. “Yes, very rough and tumble you are. Throwing pool balls at people’s heads and riding pool cues.”

Jihoon suspects he's being mocked, gently, politely. Seungcheol is injured—but it doesn’t stop him from pinching him in the arm for that.

“Hey!” Seungcheol yelps.

“Don’t make fun of me. I did the best I could with the limited experience and resources I had.” Jihoon finishes up by taping a square of gauze over Seungcheol’s neck, securing it with a gentle pat. “I’m sorry we can’t all be bad ass motherfuckers like you.” He says, and a note of admiration sneaks into his voice.

He moves around Seungcheol to wash his hands, grinning as Seungcheol steps up close behind him. Jihoon spreads his legs and arches his back slightly, almost innocently.

Seungcheol’s hands come to rest over his hips. “I’ve never had somebody fuss over my injuries before. And I’ve had a lot worse. But thanks for patching me up Sweetpea.” He says, voice rough and just a tad breathless.

Jihoon pulls Seungcheol’s arms around his waist, pressing his ass back into Seungcheol’s crotch.  “You’re welcome. Thanks for saving my ass.” He smiles as Seungcheol tightens his hold and does some grinding of his own.

“Where do you even learn skills like that? Do you pick that up from being a thief or—was that military training?” Jihoon asks, curious.

Seungcheol catches his gaze in the bathroom mirror, and his smile drops. “Neither, actually.”

“Oh?”

Seungcheol crowds in closer, right over the line into his personal space and then past it, taking up all the air in the bathroom. “Uhh—after I got discharged from the military, I did some freelance work. You keep up some skills, pick some new ones up.”

“Freelance work? Like—a mercenary?” He asks, tipping his head back against Seungcheol’s shoulder.

If he wasn't watching for it, he'd miss it, but he sees it -- the infinitesimal drawing down of Seungcheol's eyebrows and the slight steeling of his jaw “Sure— _kinda.”_ He says quietly, holding Jihoon around the waist in a hot grip.

Jihoon's surprised, until he remembers that he probably shouldn't be by now. That he should stop being surprised in general. It's like being surprised every time he sees the sun in the sky at this point. Jihoon's almost afraid to push for a second, because this isn't any random person on the street, this is Seungcheol. But he's curious, ok, more than curious.

“Kinda? So, who did you work for? Like for private security firms? Private militia?” he asks, voice low, not entirely sure what response he’s hoping for.

Seungcheol licks his lips and Jihoon’s eyes dart to the motion. “It was—definitely private.” He says and this time his voice is quieter, less certain.

The not-answer makes Jihoon waver, momentarily—he accepts where this is heading, might as well summarise it. “Seungcheol. Where you a contract killer?”

He watches the way Seungcheol's eyes half close, fingers flexing tight where they hold his waist. Seungcheol says nothing, which is as good as saying yes.

They are both silent for a moment, studying one another

“Oh--“ _Fuck—that’s hot._ Jihoon finishes with thought.

It should be more surprising that Seungcheol has that on his resume. And it should come as more of a shock that Jihoon doesn’t give a shit. The way Seungcheol's currently looking at him, Jihoon is definitely blaming him for the way huge, angry, masculine and stupidly violent has become something that apparently Jihoon kind of goes for now. He's also blaming Seungcheol for the way he isn't shoving him away - and he should - because Seungcheol is kind of a car crash waiting to happen.

He’s dangerous. Not only physically, but dangerous in the way Jihoon’s let him through all his doors, wreathed in fire and regret. Jihoon’s practically handed him the all-express pass. Weave around the bouncer, access all areas kinda deal. It’s like he’s not even trying to establish boundaries, and that's the most dangerous development of them all.

But Jihoon is letting it happen anyway, he's not saying no, when he's pretty sure that this is the moment where he's supposed to say no, if he doesn't want this.

When he locks eyes with Seungcheol in the mirror once more, there's a quiet sort of surrender to Seungcheol’s face, that Jihoon doesn't like at all. “Listen. I’m not anymore. I haven’t done anything like that in years. I know I’m a thief, but I don’t hurt people. You don’t have to be afraid of-“

“I’m not afraid." Jihoon interjects quickly. "It’s pretty cool actually.” he says, because his mouth has never obeyed what his brain tells him is common sense.

“Really? You like that? You don’t—mind?” Seungcheol says slowly, and it's not hard to see how incredulous he is at the idea.

“Well—I guess it’s a _little_ shocking. And maybe the last few days have made me a immune to a lot of shocking things, but it’s pretty bad-ass. And I’m not gonna lie—it’s kinda hot.”

Seungcheol’s eyes soften and crinkle at the corners, and he doesn't quite smile, but his surprise and appreciation are present in his voice. “Yeah?”

Jihoon nods.

“You’re a little slut for danger, aren’t you?” Seungcheol says, less a question and more smug suggestiveness.

Jihoon blushes. “Maybe.”

Seungcheol leans forward to talk low and gentle into Jihoon’s ear. “Well then—I’m very, _very_ dangerous. You should be very afraid Sweetpea.” Seungcheol warns, but he smiles, a dimple-smile no less.

Jihoon inhales sharply. He pushes back with his hips, rubbing against Seungcheol’s growing erection. “I don’t believe anyone with dimples can be _that_ dangerous.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “The dimples are a distraction. I’m a really, _really_ bad man.” he says, voice happy and light once more as he peppers kisses all along Jihoon’s shoulders.

Jihoon turns in his arms, putting a palm on Seungcheol’s chest before leaning up, a chaste brush of lips against his. “Oh really? Okay then, tell me the worst thing you’ve ever done.”

“Okay,” Seungcheol nods slowly, mulling it over. “Sometimes when we’re driving in the van—I fart and blame it on Mingyu.” He admits without shame. And heaven help him, he grins. It’s a predatory, slightly evil grin, but there nonetheless.

Jihoon reaches up to finger a dimple and actually sighs. “You're the worst.”

He smiles, before he hauls Seungcheol closer and pulls their mouths together for a feral, lip-bruising, teeth-scraping kiss. Because he can safely say that this is the only thing he wants in the whole damn world right now. He tightens his fingers, struggles to talk through the roar of blood, and the sharp, sudden greed of his own body.

He hopes Seungcheol doesn’t have it in him to be sweet and gentle tonight; he wants heat and that vicious kind of desire that leaves no room for second thoughts.

 

* * *

 

They stumble back out of the bathroom, Jihoon pushing down Seungcheol’s pants so quickly he nearly falls over. They moan into each other’s mouths, harsh small sounds against lips. Kissing open mouthed and clumsy, holding each other close, searching each other’s eyes in between kisses and grinning.

They fall onto the bed, and Seungcheol just shoves his duffel off the side, letting the contents cascade out of it, into a spray on the carpet. Seungcheol starts removing his boxers, tugging them off quickly and Jihoon has a split second to admire the impressively proportioned thighs, firm ass and frankly—terrifyingly large dick, before Seungcheol is sliding their mouths together again.

Gradually, Jihoon arches himself against the other body, runs covetous hands over Seungcheol’s powerful arms and shoulders, luxuriating in the sensation of his fingers touching all those curves and planes of muscle his eyes had so greedily lingered on for days.

Then Seungcheol’s undoing the buttons on Jihoon’s shirt, pushing him out of his pants, big hands sliding into his boxers and taking them too; slowly working him out of his clothes. Jihoon pushes upwards, shoulders and hips both, to help him, and when Jihoon’s chest is bare, Seungcheol leans down and start licking his nipples, getting them tight and wet.

“Fuck yeah,” Jihoon breathes before biting his lip.

He ends up with his legs spread, one hand thrown over his head and fisted in the sheets, while Seungcheol breathes against the naked line of his cock, close enough to open his mouth there. Jihoon is groaning before anything even happens, at just the thought of it, biting down on his lip, and pushing a knee into Seungcheol's armpit in a way that says _'Please, Please.'_ He's not sure how to ask, not sure if he can, throat locked up with anticipation, and nerves, and lust.

Seungcheol nudges his thighs open around his shoulders, slides there like he was made to fit, until one of Jihoon's legs is looped over the muscled length of his forearm, spread in a way he'd feel embarrassed about, if Seungcheol wasn't currently running the flat of his tongue along the entire length of his dick.

“Oh—fuck.” Jihoon gasps, canting his hips up involuntarily.

Seungcheol puts one hand on Jihoon's hip to anchor him, and the other he snakes between Jihoon’s legs, taking Jihoon’s cock between his fingers, his thumb right over Jihoon's slit. Jihoon's pearling, and slick at the tip, and Seungcheol smiles against the hypersensitive skin of Jihoon’s stomach as he jacks him off leisurely.

"Please," Jihoon says, eyelashes trembling. "Cheol, fuck, don't tease me."

Seungcheol pulls off to the sound of Jihoon’s furious cursing, and forces Jihoon’s legs wide. “It’s called foreplay, Sweetpea.” he tsks.

Jihoon glares, sinking fingers into Seungcheol hair. “That last four days have been foreplay. Get on with it!”

Seungcheol grins and jerks his legs another inch apart. “As you like. Stay just like that.” He leans over and rummages around the mess on his side of the bed for the lube. Jihoon hisses at him like a riled cat, but he leaves his legs spread as they are. “Got it!” Seungcheol snatches up the wayward bottle and settles back between Jihoon’s thighs.

He doesn’t faff about—just slicks up his fingers and reaches down to rub at Jihoon’s hole. He doesn’t push in yet, just working lube into the entrance with tight circles. Jihoon relaxes into the sensation, feeling himself open up as Seungcheol gradually increases the pressure.

The first finger slides in with _quite_ a bit of coercion needed. “Nice. So tight,” he says. “Was hoping you would be. Want you to feel me for days Jihoon. Wanna tear you up.” Seungcheol grunts as he gently fucks his digit into him.

Jihoon stares up at him, pupils blown and mouth slack. “Hnnn—yes.”

The second finger burns enough to make his breath hitch. He reminds himself to breathe, focuses on the way Seungcheol’s tongue runs up his ribs and across his chest to play with his sensitive nipples. The chaffing almost distracts him from the sting.

Seungcheol slips the finger inside to the last knuckle, and Jihoon sighs. He’s a little snug, a little sore, but it’s a good kind, and Jihoon can’t wait for more. Seungcheol toys at the rim of his hole with the pad of his thumb, making Jihoon buck and whine.

"Come on," Jihoon says, "More. More dammit."

"You’re so fucking spoilt. So _needy_." Seungcheol laughs.

The embarrassment burns him up, but doesn't stop his ass from clenching on the barest hint of Seungcheol’s thumb as he presses the first part of it inside. It's the smallest of penetrations, just more fucking teasing, but Jihoon feels his blood burn and he jerks his hips forward, trying to push more of Seungcheol’s thumb inside him. Seungcheol, the bastard, pulls out.

And Jihoon says "fuck" like he's been punched, which darkens Seungcheol eyes.

Then Seungcheol pushes back in, and Jihoon's cheeks flush as he looks down and sees it, because of course Jihoon wants to watch. He wants to watch every inch of his body being stretched open, being forced to accommodate Seungcheol’s fingers.

“Relax for me baby.” Seungcheol says, he kisses the bare curve of Jihoon's hip, scrapes his teeth there and twists his fingers.

It takes a little effort for three, but before long Jihoon is moaning while Seungcheol kisses down his chest and bends forward to kiss the head of his cock. It’s so damn intimate that Jihoon’s head is swimming, because this is Seungcheol, Seungcheol kissing him long and slow, Seungcheol’s fingers inside him and god, he’s thought about it so much before but even his wildest fantasies couldn’t conjure up how it would actually feel.

"You’re so wound up, Jihoon. You’ve been so patient." Seungcheol is saying, three fingers sliding easily in and out of Jihoon, curving just so to make Jihoon clamp down around him.

Jihoon just grunts and nods in response, unable to process rational thought right now.

“Wanted this for so long haven’t you.” Seungcheol says smoothly, voice all darkness and honey, which he has –from the moment Seungcheol burst through the doors back at the bank four days ago—but Jihoon bears down on Seungcheol’s fingers without any recollection of shame, and Seungcheol grins with his teeth showing. "But I'm going to play with you a while longer."

"You’re insufferable." Jihoon says, as his ass clenches around Seungcheol’s fingers, and Jihoon can barely imagine how good it's going to be when Seungcheol finally gets his cock inside. He doesn't even know if they have condoms, but he sort of thinks that it doesn't matter. He wants Seungcheol to fuck him filthy, to fuck him skin to skin, to fuck him and fill him up inside with threads of come.

Jihoon's arms tremble with the effort of holding himself up to watch, but then Seungcheol twists his fingers again, pressing meaningfully on his prostate and Jihoon gasps, feeling his toes curl into the sheets.

“Seung—cheol... god, fuck.” He bucks his hips, not sure if he’s trying to move away from the pressure or ask for more. It doesn’t matter what he wants, though, because Seungcheol pins him down with a hand splayed across his belly and massages that spot with relentless strokes.

“Seungcheol. Seungcheol, please.” Jihoon sobs, until he can hear the shrapnel of his own breath as Seungcheol makes him shudder. He can't look anymore because it's too much. He's totally open now. There's no more resistance. His arms buckle and he collapses back against the bed and simply melts to let Seungcheol take from him whatever he wants.

When his orgasm rushes upon him, on the wake of four thick fingers thrusting inside of him, Jihoon yells, arches his back, and Seungcheol’s digits nearly slip out, but Seungcheol catches him. Seungcheol holds him through the entire process, working them in deeper.

“Fuck you’re so hot Jihoonie. So beautiful.” That caramel rich voice cuts through to his lust-soaked brain. Rough and deep.

Jihoon doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but he pries them open now and blinks against the lamp light. He needs to see the face attached to that voice. Like he needs his next breath, he needs to see Seungcheol’s face.

He thought he was familiar with Seungcheol’s intensity, but this is something worlds apart from what he’s used to. Tight lines around Seungcheol’s mouth, cheeks flushed, hair falling across his brow. Pupils blown, eyes nearly black. Seungcheol’s gaze is locked on Jihoon’s cock as he works him over, as tangible as touch.

Jihoon can’t help the low whimper that escapes him, nor the pulse of come that drips onto the back of Seungcheol’s hand where it’s still braced on his abdomen. Seungcheol watches those silvery drops turn into a small puddle and moans, licking his lips.

He presses harder against Jihoon’s prostate and Jihoon’s head kicks back into the mattress. “Aahh—fuck. Oh, god!”

His legs are shaking by the time Seungcheol pulls away. Jihoon watches out of bleary eyes as he fishes around in the bedsheets for the lube.

He slicks his cock up, breath stuttering as he works himself quickly. Jihoon looks at that beautiful prick and groans, knowing it’s about to be inside him. Long and full, with a thick cockhead that he knows is going to catch on the rim of his hole in the most delicious way.  

Jihoon makes a noise that he can't quite hold in, and pulls him down by his hair, legs shifting open without any coaxing from Seungcheol's hands, until they fit together in a way that's surprisingly easy, given their differences.

“Can you come again for me baby?” Seungcheol says, mouth hot against Jihoon’s ear. He bites down less-than-gently. “Not that I’m giving you much of a choice.”

“Yes. Yes—fuck—yes. Fuck me already!” Jihoon babbles, dry-mouthed and he’s still so hard he’s in actual, literal, physical pain. “Please, please fuck me--” He spreads his legs wider and cants his hips up in invitation.

Seungcheol rises up, grips the base of his cock and presses the head into Jihoon’s glistening hole, eyes falling shut at the sensation. Jihoon hisses, tries to adjust to it. Because that is a large intrusion into his personal space.

Then Seungcheol makes this low, punched-out noise when he pushes in deeper; angles in his incredibly thick, hard length in one smooth snap of hips.

“Fuck, cheol,” he gasps, unable to help it.

Their eyes lock, Seungcheol’s darker than usual. His cheeks are slightly red and already wet hair now a mix of water and sweat. Jihoon wants to be destroyed by him.

Jihoon’s not a fetish-y sub, but he likes sex hard and exhausting, so that when they’re done—when Seungcheol is done with him—Jihoon is limp and comatose, his brain flat lined. Nothing relaxes him the same way as being torn up in bed.

Once fully seated, Seungcheol rolls his hips in slow circles, causing Jihoon to bite down hard on his lower lip, sucking it between his teeth.

“There you go,” Seungcheol murmurs in a husky voice. He traces a finger around Jihoon’s cock-stretched opening, eyes smouldering at the sight. “Perfect fit.”

“Yeah. Barely! For fucks sake move.” Jihoon whispers, fingers clawing at the sheets. But, god yes, it is perfect. So full and hard inside him, he swears he can feel Seungcheol’s shaft throbbing within him.

And when Seungcheol moves, Jihoon gasps. A brief sound that doesn't linger for too long because Seungcheol’s grabbing his hips and fucking him like he means it. No more slow, no more gentle, no more games. Jihoon takes hold of Seungcheol’s shoulders and clings desperately as Seungcheol thrusts in and out, again and again.

He starts moaning, filter broken between his brain and his mouth. He throws his head back and makes noises like Seungcheol is breaking him, groaning restlessly as Seungcheol moves inside him. Jihoon’s hips jerk erratically, and then become one sinuous movement when Seungcheol applies more pressure.

Jihoon speaks — he tries to speak

The words that tumble out of his mouth are very much adult-rated. There are a few bitten off ‘Shit!’, a number of long, drawn out ‘Fuuccck!”; a smatter of quick and breathless ‘Yes!’; several eclipsing screams; some obscene moans; and several toe curling ‘Oh my god’s, cut through occasionally with Seungcheol's name. It's too much, too loud, hilariously embarrassing and Jihoon doesn't know how to stop it.

“Yes, yes. Let me hear you. Love your pretty moans.” Seungcheol groans against Jihoon’s cheek, while Jihoon’s mouth works, trying to kiss any bit he can reach. He nips at Seungcheol’s jaw, his chin, his Adam’s apple.

“Touch me! Please!” Frustration punched out in a rough fall of words. But Seungcheol's hand moves from the bend of his waist to the heavy jut of his cock, all hot fingers and tight grip, and Jihoon hisses gratitude and pushes up into his fist.

Seungcheol strokes him slowly, meaningfully, matching his thrusts to every hitch of Jihoon's breath until finally Jihoon is sinking into it, eyes closed, kissing Seungcheol in between helpless moans.

Their movements soon grow frenzied, rhythm faltering as Jihoon starts pumping his hips upward while Seungcheol grinds down.

“More, more—harder. Tear me up!” He's hot and slick in Seungcheol’s grasp, and Seungcheol kisses the pulse behind his ear, just once, before he slings one of Jihoon’s legs over his shoulder and fucks into him like an animal.

The sensation is unerring and unapologetic. Seungcheol’s cock is just there. Running along electrified nerves without mercy. The pleasure rockets straight from a warm wave to a fiery storm, crashing through every inch of his body. It’s too much—and just exactly right.

He lets Seungcheol have him there, with the bedsheets bunching under his knees. He lets Seungcheol have him, hands braced against the headboard, bed creaking with every thrust. He lets Seungcheol have him, a hot thick pleasure sliding into him, making him hang his head down and gasp. He can hear their moans, the obscene slap of thighs, he can smell the tang of his own sweat. There, in that motel room, he lets Seungcheol have everything.

Jihoon comes with a force that makes him lose his voice entirely, shuddering and shuddering in Seungcheol's graceful hands, Seungcheol’s fingers squeezing the head of his cock and Seungcheol’s mouth licking a line up his neck, slow and torturous.

“Oh shit, Jihoonie, I’m..”  Seungcheol’s rhythm stutters when he feels Jihoon clamp down on him. Grace and control vanish as he moves faster, harder, rougher. Jihoon is too fried to do more than lie there blissfully and enjoy the view as Seungcheol thrusts his way to his own release, jaw clenched and dark gaze locked on the pearly ropes of come streaking across Jihoon’s torso.

Without missing a beat of his hips, Seungcheol leans forward and licks a drop of come from Jihoon’s chest, and it’s either the change in angle or the bitter tang on his tongue proves Seungcheol’s undoing.

He bucks hard, striving to bury every inch of himself inside Jihoon’s gripping channel as his body gives one final shiver and he comes.

* * *

 

It’s late. Hell, by some people’s standards, it’s already morning. Not that Jihoon cares much either way seeing as how he’s naked in bed with Seungcheol, after the most glorious night of his life.

Seungcheol had fucked him again, the second time with Jihoon riding him. Positioned where Jihoon could bask in the sight of firm muscle underneath him as he moved enthusiastically on Seungcheol’s cock.

Eventually they’d collapsed into the sheets and were lying there now, tangled together in the warm glow of the bedside lamp, indolent caresses skimming flushed and bruised skin. It’s a tranquil moment, peaceful even.

Jihoon doesn't make any effort to move. He’s perfectly content to lie there, sweaty and sated. He stares at the ceiling fan for a while, catching his breath, and then he hoists himself up to get a good look at Seungcheol.

Seungcheol is the very picture of contentment, his eyes heavy-lidded, all the lines in his face loose and relaxed, lips swollen and red. “How are you feeling Sweetpea?” He asks, and his tone is companionable, easy, as if he hadn’t been uttering filth into Jihoon’s ear mere minutes ago. For some reason, it charms him.

“Me? Great. Never better.” Jihoon manages brokenly, still a little wrecked. For the first time, he realizes that he even believes it. This is his life now, sex in motel rooms with almost strangers who kidnap him — and he's all right with it. It's more than he's had in years. It's even better than all right when Seungcheol kisses him on the tip of his nose and then stretches, slumping down on the creaky bed. The sound makes Jihoon think of sex, but to be fair, Seungcheol could be cleaning out his earwax and Jihoon would still think about sex.

“When was the last time you got laid?” Seungcheol asks suddenly.  

He doesn’t want to answer; worse, he wants to lie, but he ends up holding Seungcheol’s gaze and saying, “Yeah, uh, a while. With somebody I was actually attracted too—even longer.” He’s not sure why he says the words other than the simple fact it’s true.

Seungcheol’s silence seems to stretch an eternity although Jihoon knows in actuality it’s only a few seconds.

“It hasn’t been that long for me. But it felt like a chore last time. I haven’t done anything like this before. This was—different.” Seungcheol says, his voice quiet. Jihoon’s not sure why, but it feels like a confession; something layered and filled with subtext his post orgasm mind can’t quite grasp.

Seungcheol seems to be looking around the room, memorizing every piece, like he might never be here again.  It seems like Seungcheol's a mindblowing fuck and a sentimental guy, which are qualities rare enough on their own but almost statistically impossible in combination.

“What are you thinking about?” Jihoon murmurs, poking Seungcheol’s leg with his toes.

Seungcheol chews his lip thoughtfully. He’s watching Jihoon with an expression he can't read, not one of the usual ones, something new. “I’m worried.” His eyes are darker than ever, and Jihoon is struck by a sneaking serpentine fear.

“Worried about what?”

Seungcheol hums and squints at him. “That this Motel didn’t even try and check up on us even though you were screaming bloody murder.”

Jihoon can't quite stop the tangle of embarrassment and relief that comes on that. “No, I _wasn’t.”_ He huffs, stretching his legs out a little wider, slouching against the pillows.

Seungcheol hoists himself up and covers Jihoon’s body with his own. Jihoon groans at the feel of Seungcheol’s bulk, nearly sighing when Seungcheol traces his strong hands up and down Jihoon’s arms and over his shoulders.

“I’m pretty sure you screamed out ‘Help me, god somebody help me’ a few times. I can’t believe nobody thought to check I wasn’t murdering you. I was at least expecting management to knock on the door and tell us to keep it down.” Seungcheol grins, biting his way along Jihoon’s arm.

Jihoon squirms against him. “Shut up. I wasn’t _that_ loud.” He dips his fingers into the small of Seungcheol’s back, pressing hard. “I was faking it mostly. Felt like a needed to put on a good show to repay you for that ass kicking you delivered.”

“So _rude_.” Seungcheol intones, but his smile hasn’t faded once. He’s lying on his belly now, perpendicular to Jihoon, his head resting against Jihoon’s ribcage. “For a little guy—you’ve got one amazing pair of lungs.”

Jihoon makes a rude noise, objecting to the opinion without actually admitting that it's not true. “You know what. You would scream too if you’d got the pounding I just got.” Jihoon says, without malice, unable to help the grin that spreads across his face, pleasure still thrumming throughout his body.

He sneaks a glance at Seungcheol, watches as his eyes widen slightly in exaggerated surprise. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Which - oh my God - fuck, yes. Yes.

* * *

 

When Jihoon wakes up in the morning, he finds the bed empty.

He feels something sharp in his stomach when he looks around the quiet room. He looks at his clothes strewn all over the floor, the noticeable lack of Seungcheol’s clothes, his missing duffel bag and then over to the bedside table.

The clock reads 12:14.

Check out is at 11.

Which can only mean one thing: Seungcheol has left him behind. Taken this opportunity to make a getaway on the back of a bruising sex session. The thought of being abandoned in some seedy motel in the middle of nowhere, when he's not even a hundred percent sure of where he is, makes him feel a little bit sick.

There's an anguished noise buried somewhere in his throat that threatens to burst free. Jihoon chokes it back until he can breathe again. He clutches the bedsheets between his fingers and takes a steadying deep breath.

He makes himself deal with this.

It’s fine. He’s fine.

He should have expected this.

He’s not going to panic. He’s going to give himself a minute and then he’s going to get up and get dressed and go downstairs and--

Then the door swings open and Seungcheol steps into the room, balancing a tray off coffee and several large carrier bags.  “Oh good, you’re up. I got breakfast. I also drove into town to pick you up some new clothes, cause I kinda—ripped yours last night.” Seungcheol chuckles sheepishly, carefully placing the coffee tray on the bedside table and dumping the bags on the bed.

He starts rooting through them, completely oblivious to Jihoon’s stunned, terrified silence. “Don’t be mad but—they’re gonna be a little on the large side if you don’t want another jumper with a bear on it.”

Jihoon swallows back the words of anger ready to rush out of his mouth. The ‘COULD HAVE LEFT A NOTE YOU SON OF A BITCH’ traipsing on the tip of his tongue.

Seungcheol seems to register his stiff silence then, and blinks at him with innocent eyes. Then his face does a meaningful sort of scrunch. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Thanks for getting me clothes. I’ll try them on.” he says, already moving off the bed. Seungcheol grabs his wrist and pulls him back down.

Jihoon turns to face him slowly. He must look stricken, because Seungcheol smiles ruefully, eyes flickering with something Jihoon can’t define. “You didn’t actually think I’d pack up and leave you behind, did you?”

Jihoon huffs a breath of laughter. “No—I.” He hesitates. He wants to say something, throw the other man off balance the way he's feeling right now, but his mind is a blank. He shrugs his shoulders weakly. “Maybe.”

There's a stillness from beside him which feels contemplative. Seungcheol strokes his wrist lightly. “I should have left a note.”

Jihoon turns to him. “Yeah. You should have.” It almost hurts to speak, to look into Seungcheol's face when he's being compassionate like this.

“Sorry.” Seungcheol says. It's quiet and confused, like he has no idea how to cope with Jihoon freaking out over the fact that he was left behind. It does a great job of making Jihoon feel extra specially pathetic.

“It’s fine.” Jihoon says quietly. Because it's almost the truth. He's fine - he will be fine.

“I didn’t think about it that way. I just wanted you to get some rest.” Seungcheol leans in close and pries the bed sheet from Jihoon’s hand, then presses his palms to Jihoon’s shoulder, massaging firmly. “Let me make it up to you.” He says, and Jihoon loves when his voice gets like that; low and rumbly.

“It’s fine.” Jihoon says again, not forcefully, because he's in no hurry to push Seungcheol's hands away from his skin. The warmth of them, there's something reassuring about that, about the way they hold him still, ground him in the too-bright, shitty, motel bathroom. "I'm fine," he says, and tries to make that the last time, hopes he sounds it, if only to reassure Seungcheol.

One of Seungcheol's hands has made its way up to his throat, curled there, thumb brushing where his pulse is jumping under the skin. He's still a little shaky, but he's no longer shaking. Because it's really hard to feel like the world is collapsing in on itself when Seungcheol has his hands on him. Jihoon doesn't know what that says about _him_ , what that says about _them_.

Seungcheol kneads his fingers into Jihoon’s muscles and murmurs, “C’mon. Lie down,” he whispers, guiding Jihoon toward the bed.

Seungcheol starts at his shoulders, kneading slowly, then firmer and deeper. He works his way down Jihoon’s chest, over his hip bones and thighs. Soon Jihoon feels a hot mouth kissing down his chest, softly, almost careful. He finds himself sighing and pressing deeper into the mattress.

Jihoon sighs, breathing out, “You don’t have to.” He’s barely audible, voice muffled against the pillow but he knows Seungcheol hears him.

“I want to.” Seungcheol says. Jihoon shivers as he drags the backs of his fingertips up and down Jihoon’s flank, his breath hot on Jihoon’s stomach. “Let me make you forget everything. Just let me do this.”

Seungcheol trails kisses down Jihoon's chest, his lips open and mouthing, at times barely touching him, just ghost pressure and puffs of air that make Jihoon shiver. “Are you ready?” He whispers, dipping his tongue in Jihoon’s navel.

“Uhh—yeah?” Jihoon says, lets his hands slide down to bed sheets and gets a good grip; something in those brown eyes tells him he’s going to need it.

Seungcheol resumes his downward path, wraps both arms around Jihoon’s thighs and holds tight. And then……..

**He blows a raspberry on Jihoon’s stomach.**

It's completely unexpected and has him shrieking with surprised laughter.

“The fuck!” Jihoon says, sounding scandalized for the tiniest moment, but then he narrows his eyes at Seungcheol. “Honestly?”

“Hold up—I’m not finished.” Seungcheol says seriously, then continues to blow raspberries on Jihoon’s skin, not deterred in the slightest.

Jihoon smiles against his will and struggles out of Seungcheol’s grasp “You fucking asshole. I thought you were gonna blow me.”

“I _am_ blowing you.”

Jihoon barks out a startled laugh, “Not raspberry blowing! I thought you were gonna go down on me.”

Seungcheol arches his eyebrows. “Clearly we have very different definitions on the term, blowing.”

Jihoon looks at him, marvellous and frustrating in one elegant package. Jihoon is not a romantic. But at the long and winding end of the day, Jihoon knows what he wants, and there is a quality to Seungcheol sometimes that makes his throat close up in tenderness.

Jihoon swats at Seungcheol’s hand as it begins tickling around his inner thigh. “No—not my thighs.”

“Yes your thighs!” Seungcheol’s voice is gravelly and slightly amused.

Jihoon dissolves into helpless laughter and Seungcheol soon follows, as he pins Jihoon’s hips to the bed and delivers a series of raspberries in between ticklish caresses.

“Cheol! Stop!” Jihoon cries out as his laughter becomes harsh wheezing.

“Just one more.” Seungcheol pleads, thumbs sweeping over the curve of Jihoon’s hip bones.

“Fine.” Jihoon says, voice laced with exertion.

Seungcheol grins victoriously, before leaning down and planting his lips on Jihoon’s pale stomach. He keeps his eyes trained on Jihoon, looking up at him beneath a cluster of eyelashes as he blows another raspberry.

Jihoon giggles, down right giggles and it’s in that moment, that one ridiculous second, Jihoon realizes he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) LONG  
> 2) Do you see where I was going to cliffhang--but didn't cause that would have been a dick move :)  
> 3) Hope you enjoy the smut. Feedback always appreciated.


	9. Debit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slight detour for the crew.

Seungcheol somehow manages to convince Jihoon that showering together is a good idea.

He’d argued that showering together would save time, help conserve water and they could access out of reach areas with four hands instead of two. Jihoon couldn’t find fault with that logic, though it takes a while to get to the whole cleaning part and even then Seungcheol uses his tongue a lot more than is strictly necessary.

Eventually Jihoon has to leave the cubicle because almost an hour later they’re still ‘showering’ and it’s descended into something unproductive and seriously filthy which is not conducive to cleaning up at all.

Once he dries himself off, Jihoon dresses quickly, wearing the new if slightly oversized clothing Seungcheol has acquired him. Seungcheol dresses a lot slower, pulling on more casual attire with what Jihoon suspects is a completely unnecessary amount of flexing.

Possibly for Jihoon’s benefit.

Jihoon pretends not to be paying attention, until he stops.

* * *

 

When they check-out of the motel, they all climb into the van and ride further west.

Through the windscreen Jihoon can see mountains that roll upwards out of the land, entire chains of mountains, where the tallest are capped with snow and glints of merciless light.

Jihoon can no longer see a horizon; he can only see the alpine scar of the land, and a muscle in his throat closes at the sight because it’s a view he's experiencing for the first time. The only time Jihoon has ever seen mountains is on the TV, in books and on postcards and maybe the ones he's looking at now aren't that impressive in the grand scale of mountains -- but they are beautiful in a way that's like breaking sweat after a fever, like opening your eyes after a long moonless night.

He never travelled much as a kid, even less as an adult with a demanding job. He didn't see any need to leave the city where there was, he once thought, everything he’d ever need.

It all seems like such a waste of opportunities now.

They stop at a small town for a driving break and he and Seungcheol go to a café for lunch, while the three idiots wonder around and restock on essentials.

Seungcheol pays for their lunch, and they take it outside where they sit on the café patio and eat under the sun.

It’s a beautiful day. The air is different around the mountains, and Jihoon breathes it in greedily, almost overwhelmed. They're not far from a national park, and there are families of hikers and adventurers all around them. Jihoon people watches quietly as he bites down into his roast beef sandwich. When he is done, he crumples the wrapper and throws it into the garbage can, tilting his head when he catches Seungcheol staring at him once more with a fond smile on his face.

"What is it?" Jihoon asks. “Is there mustard on my face?”

“No, you’re fine. I just—“ Seungcheol pauses, looking conflicted for a brief moment. He gives Jihoon a look from beneath his eyebrows, soft, amused, some strange third option that Jihoon doesn't know him well enough to puzzle out. “It’s just, this is nice.” He finally says, gesturing vaguely around them.

Jihoon nods. “It is a beautiful area, great weather too.”

“Not that. Not _just_ that.” He leans back in his chair, slouches and gives a shrug, followed by the rough beginnings of a smile. “I mean this is nice. Us, spending time together.”

Jihoon blinks. There are moments like this when he can't think of the right words to say. Usually what he _does_ end up saying ruins the moment and he’ll be damned if he does that now. He doesn't do anything beyond smile and nod, “Yeah. It is.”

They had sex last _night—twice._ Then did a bunch of strangely tender stuff this morning. Then something that's probably illegal in the shower after.

He hadn't had a chance to think about what it all meant yet, to think about what this changed. Now they were...sleeping together, it's _different_. That's what they're doing, he assumes, sleeping together.

Are they together?

He doesn't know, he's forgotten how relationships work.

He's forgotten how to  _have_  a relationship. But he'd really, _really_ like to have this one. If that's an option.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Jihoon speaks up just to give him something else to think about. “May I ask where we’re headed?”

“You may.” Seungcheol says, taking a break from unwittingly doing obscene things to his fries. Honestly, is it _really_ necessary for Seungcheol to curl his tongue around every French fry like that? Jihoon wonders if it's his own fault, if he’s spent too long working innuendo into almost _everything_.

“Where are we headed then?” Jihoon asks, and drains his drink half out of thirst and half out of self-preservation.

Seungcheol dusts his fingers on his napkin. “We’re two days away from our destination. The plan is to keep driving during the day till we get there and drop the guys off.”

“And then?” Jihoon prompts.

“Then I buy a speedboat.” Seungcheol says simply.

Jihoon wipes a hand over his face, tries to think rationally, “ _Okay_. But after that? Do you spend all your heist money and then do this all over again in another couple of months or something?”

Seungcheol makes a thoughtful noise, and nods. “Maybe, if I feel like it. But I need to assemble a new crew for that.” He says, and drinks half his coke while Jihoon mulls that over.

“What’s wrong with your current crew? Besides the obvious lack of experience, intelligence and wiles?”

Seungcheol shrugs. “Let’s face it. They’re not very good thieves.”

Jihoon can’t help but smile. “Yeah—but they’re _family_ Seungcheol.” He says in a gentle teasing tone.

Seungcheol pulls a face, as if there are already three things he disapproves of in that sentence. “I honestly hope you don’t think I’m related to them.”

Jihoon giggles. “No, there’s definitely no familial resemblance there, I’m happy to say. Although I am curious—how _did_ you guys meet?” He asks. Which is something he's always wondered but never thought to ask.

Seungcheol wipes his mouth on his napkin and screws up the empty wrapper for his sandwich. “Ahh—it’s really not that interesting.” He admits.

Jihoon rests his arms on the table and leans forward, interested. “We have time Seungcheol. Come on, tell me.”

“I overheard them plotting the heist at a bar I was drinking in. Their plan sounded fucking ridiculous. So I butted in and took over.” Seungcheol says, then holds up a hand in a 'that's it' gesture.

Jihoon's quiet for one stunned minute, sitting there with his mouth open, probably very unattractively. “That’s it? They let you take over? That easily. Don’t they _know_ not to talk to strangers?”

Seungcheol shrugs his shoulders. “I think they knew they were very out of their depth. It _was_ a very stupid plan they had originally. My plan was better and I had experience.” There is no smugness to the admission, just honestly. “None of them had actually stolen anything before and they were planning on using _horses_ as their getaway method. Fucking horses! It was poorly planned and just some desperate attempt to get quick cash and—I could see where it was headed, so I intervened.”

Jihoon considers that new piece of information for a few moments. “So, at what stage of your grand plan are you planning on letting me go?” He says, with a bored sort of inevitability

“You still wanna go?” Seungcheol says slowly. He almost sounds surprised. He almost looks hurt. There's an amusing dent between his eyebrows that Jihoon kind of wants to poke with a finger.

“What’s the alternative?” Jihoon asks. Because he thinks that's a fair question.

Seungcheol reaches across the table with one hand, like he has to touch Jihoon, like he can't help itself. But he stops short and his hand lands bare inches away from Jihoon's. “Stay with me.” Seungcheol says. His voice is soft, but it carries quiet desperation.

Jihoon's tempted to shake his head, because surely that’s not a good idea. Seungcheol isn’t thinking these things through. Jihoon has a sinking feeling that he may actually be the responsible adult here, even out of the two of them. Which makes anything else he might say, or do, a phenomenally bad idea. Because at the moment he doesn't feel like a responsible adult; he feels precipitous and intrepid and that doesn't bode well for anyone.

Jihoon stares at the space between their fingers, imagines what it would be like. “Seungcheol, I’d just get in the way.” It's a simple enough truth.

But Seungcheol moves suddenly, closing those inches of table between them to lay his hand over Jihoon's. His fingers close around Jihoon's wrist, strong and insistent, and tighten until Jihoon finally meets his eyes.

Jihoon finds a fire there that he doesn't expect.

“No, you wouldn’t. Don’t say that.” Seungcheol growls. He sounds furious, the same anger reflecting on his face for a moment before his expression smooths back out. He doesn't release Jihoon's wrist. In a more carefully measured voice, Seungcheol says, “I like having you around, so do the others. You keep us balanced and you’re pretty level headed. You’re like our point man.”

Jihoon grins, considering it a worthy compliment. 

Encouraged by that, Seungcheol brushes warm fingers over his knuckles. “I want you to stay.” He says seriously and Jihoon can feel the weight it signifies.

“Say I stay Seungcheol, what next? We keep driving round on this never-ending road trip until your next heist? It doesn’t sound like a feasible long term plan.”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “No, of course not. I have a big house by the lake. It’s just me there.” He says.

Jihoon can detect a sort of loneliness when he says it, and Jihoon feels sympathetic for him because, well, Jihoon understands loneliness. Until Seungcheol kidnapped him, Jihoon was quite aware of what loneliness felt like and what empty apartments with too much furniture and too much silence could do to a person.

“Is there a lake at the lake house?” Jihoon asks. He doesn't realize until the words have hit the open air just how stupid his question is.

“Yes, Jihoon. That’s what makes it a _lake house_. What do you think I’m buying the speedboat for?” Seungcheol laughs, then sobers quickly. “We can live there, I think you’d like it.”

Jihoon blinks at him. _“Live_ there? What are you saying Seungcheol?”

Seungcheol squeezes his hand softly. “I’m _saying_ —I have enough money for _two_ speedboats.” He says carefully, looking Jihoon square in the eye.

Jihoon honestly doesn't know whether it's a joke or a random declaration of wealth, because Seungcheol's facial expressions sometimes have a habit of conflicting with what comes out of his mouth.

Jihoon swallows with difficulty, throat losing something complicated and strangled. “Is one of these hypothetical speedboats for _me_?”

Seungcheol’s head ticks sideways. “Of course.” He says seriously, like that had been obvious from the beginning.

Jihoon can't resist a smile and something travels up his spine, something warm and soft and also something deeper. He thinks he should be flattered, but there's no more space in his brain for other emotions right now - perhaps later.

“Why do we need two speedboats? How small are these speedboats? I was under the impression more than one person could fit on a speedboat? Do we need two?”

Seungcheol frowns, like the idea has never occurred to him. “I just thought offering to buy us couple speedboats was kinda— _romantic_.” His voice places the most subtle of pressures on that last word.

“ _Romantic_? _Sure_. In a very financially irresponsible way.” Jihoon says flatly, because there's no getting around that fact.

Seungcheol gets a contemplative look on his face and says, “I guess we could just buy one speedboat and take turns driving it.”

Jihoon sighs without meaning to, all the air just escapes from him. “And your plan is for us to live by the lake and ride speedboats all day long?”

Seungcheol makes a humming sound that might be agreement. “And have awesome, mind blowing sex.” He adds with a leer.

“Are you expecting us to have sex on these speedboats?” And, ok, maybe he said that a little too loud because now everyone was  _looking_  at them and at his _hand_ _gestures_. It's very hard to describe driving an imaginary speedboat without complicated hand gestures that look like you’re jacking off two invisible dudes at the same time.

Why the hell does that keep happening to him?

Yeah, somewhere there's a god with a really messed up sense of humour. Jihoon isn't quite sure what he did to merit its attention though.

Jihoon fidgets with his napkin for just long enough to make sure everyone has gone back to whatever they're doing, or at least pretended to convincingly enough that he can't see them watching. “Seungcheol, this all sounds—very promising—as a short-term plan, but what about long term? Have you thought about what you want to do in the future?”

“I don’t have a long-term plan, Sweetpea. My life isn’t structured. I do this—until I do something else.” Seungcheol says, with all seriousness.

Jihoon forces himself to relax, to look like he's relaxed, because most of his adult life has been planned down to the last detail and he can’t imagine how he would function any other way. “Doesn’t that terrify you? Not knowing what you’re going to do—not having a goal? A plan? A purpose?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “Nope. When I was in the military—every this was planned out for me. What time I woke up at, when I went to sleep, what I did, when I ate, even when I took a shit. I want to get as far away from the as possible. I still plan for things that require it—like this heist, but it’s nice to have the freedom to do whatever you want and not have to plan every aspect of your day.”

“I can see the appeal in that.” Jihoon says honestly. There's a sort of grim humour to that that he appreciates for a second. Life and its practicalities prove damn hard to shake off.

“That’s what you need. You need to let go of the reigns and live a little. Aren’t you happier here that you were back there?” Seungcheol asks. He has one eyebrow raised, and his voice is questioning and amused, but it has just the faintest thread of hope tangled through it.

Jihoon stares at Seungcheol, and doesn't quite know what to say. He settles for commenting on the first part of that statement, to save him thinking about the second. “I’m not completely anal about structure. I let go of the reigns— _sometimes_. In small, manageable doses. And I wouldn’t make a very good point man for you if I didn’t plan ahead—if I didn’t fuss about details.” He argues.

Seungcheol looks genuinely enthusiastic for a second with his response, in a way that Jihoon thinks should worry him.

No, in a way that should almost certainly worry him. “You’re right Jihoonie—that’s what makes you special. We’re opposites in a way—but it works for us. You ground me, keep me level headed and I keep things creative, keep you from getting stressed out. We’d make such a great team if we planned heists together.”

Jihoon's honestly not sure whether to be horrified, flattered, or fascinated by that suggestion. He settles for all three, which isn't an entirely comfortable mix. “A point man is one thing Seungcheol, but I’m not a thief—I wouldn’t know the first thing about—stealing anything.” He reminds Seungcheol with a hissed whisper.

Which seems to put a frown in Seungcheol’s brain. Though he is nothing if not persistent.

“I can show you, teach you everything you need to know.” Seungcheol points out. He looks like he's a second away from clapping his hands together, and jumping up to go and find some banks for Jihoon practice on.

“I dunno Seungcheol. Think about what you’re asking me to do. We just met—five days ago and now you’re asking me to—run away with you. It’s a lot to take in.” He feels compelled to point out.

Seungcheol nods and bites his lip. He's a trained killer, with a military background that’s robbed a bank and evaded the police, but still he bites his lip like he's worried about what Jihoon thinks. “I know it seems— _rushed_ , but I feel—something when I’m around you. I’m not into fate or that soulmate bullshit—never have been. But something clicked with you and—I’ve always believed that everything happens for a reason.” he says, squeezing Jihoon’s hand gently.

Jihoon sighs gustily. “Well _yeah_ —the reason being Mingyu’s big mouth revealing your name.”

“That’s not necessarily true.” Seungcheol says, gripping his arm and running his thumb lightly across it. 

Jihoon narrows his eyes and looks at him dead-on, stone-faced. “What do you mean?” He demands

“Hmm—even if Mingyu hadn’t been dumb enough to say my name, I was maybe— _planningonkidnappingyouanyway_.” Seungcheol says, all in a rush.

Jihoon's brain replays that sentence in his head, several times. Which doesn't really help, in the slightest. "Excuse me, what?

Seungcheol bites his lip, which makes him look approximately five years old. But Jihoon needs an explanation for this right now, so he glares until Seungcheol's expression sort of caves inwards.

“I’m not sorry okay. When I saw you in the bank I thought you were really hot. My type of hot. And like I said—something clicked. It would have been weird to ask for your number when we were holding you at gunpoint. I wanted to get to know you and there was no way to do that, unless…” Seungcheol trails off with a guilty shrug.

“You kidnapped me because you wanted to go on a date?” Jihoon gasps.

Which is flattering, or possibly insane. Jihoon hasn't decided yet. Though he's apparently into both flattering and insane.

“I should be mad at you.” He says sternly.

“But you’re not?” Seungcheol asks cautiously.

They balance on the edge of that moment for a long second before Jihoon is forced into a short noise that might just be laughter and Seungcheol looks triumphant.

“You’re not getting away with this that easily Cheol!” Jihoon snaps and Seungcheol school’s his face into something appropriately sombre.

“I’m flattered but this whole thing has been very inconvenient. I had a great attendance record at work before you kidnapped me. I was on my way to securing a good bonus too. Now everyone thinks I’m a thief amongst other things and I haven’t got a thing to show for it. I might not have had much of a life back there—but I worked hard for it.” His voice can't help but rise on the last few words.

“I’m sorry.” Seungcheol says, and he does at least look sorry. “I didn’t think they’d actually accuse you of anything. And I still think they have no evidence and they’re just blowing hot air over nothing. But if it’s not, if in the end you still want to go back and they’re pursuing you as a suspect—I’ll hand myself in.” Seungcheol says seriously. He brushes his thumb along Jihoon’s knuckles, then raises his hand to his lips and presses a tender kiss there.

Jihoon pouts and flushes pink, because that might just be the sweetest thing anyone has ever offered to do for him. Seungcheol could be lying of course, saying the right thing to soften him a little but— _still_ —it’s really fucking sweet.

“You don’t have to do that.” Jihoon mumbles, still pouting ridiculously.

“It’s the least I could do, for ruining your life. If you want to go back, I’ll do what I have to, to make things right.” Seungcheol says honourably. The charismatic bastard.

Jihoon smiles, feeling a little lighter, a lot more hopeful. Even if he has no intention of allowing Seungcheol to hand himself in—it’s the thought that counts.

“Will you—at least think about my plan?” Seungcheol says, soft and a little pleading. 

Jihoon sighs. “I’ll think about it.” He says instead. When he thinks the answer should be, no, of course, no, that's not something he can imagine happening. He's not sure why he doesn't say that. When it's such a firm sentence in his head, carefully thought out, concise. Seungcheol's future is annoyingly vague, and Jihoon's place in it, Jihoon's place as  _a part of it_ , is just as unknowable. It’s hard to plan for a vague and mysterious future. He’ll just have to roll with it for now.

“In the meantime, I guess there’s no harm in checking out your lake house—laying low there for a while.” Jihoon offers, trying for a casual tone.

Seungcheol laughs, husky in his throat. “You’ll love it.” He stands from his chair and tosses a generous handful of bills on the table behind them as they leave.

When Jihoon turns to walk, Seungcheol grabs him by the elbow and stops him mid-step. Turns him around so that they're standing too close, breathing each other's air.  _Making a goddamn spectacle in the middle of the street_ , Jihoon thinks, though he can't make himself step away from Seungcheol's gravitational pull.

Seungcheol's kiss, when it comes, is light and chaste. Quick and almost careless, though Jihoon knows it's anything but.

Then Seungcheol take his hand and walks him back towards the van where the others are surely waiting for them. Seungcheol’s fingers are a heated point of contact over his own, his pulse a physical sensation against Jihoon’s skin.

They're in public where people are  _staring_ , but Jihoon can't bring himself to care.

Let them stare. They're far from a place where anybody would even know who they are, and the anonymity is liberating.

* * *

 

They drive to four separate motels trying to find accommodation for the night, but they’re out of luck. It seems like there is a music festival nearby and everyone has pre-booked the rooms.

“We could sleep in the van?” Wonwoo suggests.

“Hmm. I’d rather not—if we can avoid it.” Seungcheol says, scrolling through the motel listings on his phone.

The drive past a sign that reads: _National Park entrance in 2 miles_ , and Seungcheol pulls the van over at the side of the road, looking pensive.

“I have an idea." He says, pulling his phone out again and beginning to search for something. he obviously finds what he's looking for and seems pleased with himself. "Okay, listen up. There’s an outdoor store back in town, selling tents and camping equipment. The weather is pretty good and we’re a couple of miles away from the national park.”

“What are you saying?” Jihoon asks, panic already creeping at the edges of his voice. He’s pretty sure Seungcheol is suggesting they go camping.

Which sounds awful.

Seungcheol’s looking at him like the answer's fairly self-explanatory. _“I’m saying_ —we could go camping.”

“No.” Jihoon says tightly, with a pleading look that he sincerely hopes Seungcheol understands. 

But Seungcheol is too distracted by the three idiots cheering in the back. “Yay! Camping!”

Jihoon wonders if it's at all possible to make that  _not_  happen. Because parks mean nature, and nature means wildlife, and wildlife means **BEARS**.

 _Bears._  If Jihoon ends up getting eaten by a bear in the middle of the forest, he's going to be very upset about it.

_Maybe sleeping in the van wouldn’t be such a bad idea?_

Sure, it would be a little cramped, but it’s a lot more cramped when you’re digesting inside of a grizzly bear’s stomach.

“Whaddya say Jihoonie? You up for a night of camping?” Seungcheol says good-naturedly.

Jihoon shakes his head emphatically. “No. I’m not good with nature. I hate the outdoors. I’m an indoor man Seungcheol. I like beds and carpets and modern luxuries, like being able to take a piss without fifteen squirrels watching me.” Jihoon huffs.

“It’s only for one night. It’ll be fun.” Seungcheol says, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“Yeah. Come on Jihoon!” Mingyu cheers, looming like a giant puppy between the seats.

“We can roast marshmallows, and make a fire, and tell ghost stories!” Vernon claps.

“And learn about nature!” Wonwoo pipes up. Everyone gives him a withering look.

Jihoon sighs and gives in, against his better judgment. “Fine. But there better not be any bears!” he huffs.

“Bears? In the wild? This far west?” Seungcheol manages to make it sound like only an idiot wouldn't have assumed as much. Jihoon hopes he’s right.

* * *

 

So he lets Seungcheol take them camping one night in the National Park.

The queue for an hour just to get in through the gates because it’s a busy Friday. Or at least Jihoon _thinks_ it's a Friday though he's having trouble keeping track of the days. He doesn't have his phone and his watch is broken, and it's fine.

The sun’s baking him in the insulated van and he’s slowly dying of dehydration, but it’s fine. Nature is fun.

As they queue, Jihoon searches through a newspaper for any recent news about bear attacks in the area, a subject he is morbidly interested in. While Wonwoo tries to get everyone excited about biology! When everyone sticks their heads out the window to avoid him, he utters protestations about the beauty of nature and the importance of intellectual stimulus –he's a trainee teacher, as it turns out.

Once they get through the gates, they get lost almost immediately. The park is so huge, they spend a good two hours wandering back and forth, looking for the designated camping grounds. Seungcheol is too proud to stop and ask for directions, even after they almost drive over a fucking cliff.

Jihoon finally convinces him to stop and ask a hiker for help, but the man proceeds to give them directions like they’re sailing a fucking boat or something. _‘Go east for one km, then head west!’_ Which means absolutely nothing to them.

Jihoon spitefully hopes the man gets eaten by a bear.

Jihoon curses himself for not buying one of those park maps at the entrance, and he curses Seungcheol when it turns out that Seungcheol has one already and only pulls it out reluctantly at the last minute. "Men don't need maps--" he begins guiltily, and Jihoon resists murdering him because then he’d be alone with the three idiots and he needs Seungcheol for protection from the bears lurking in the grooves of stone and trees. 

 

* * *

 

Jihoon may never really experience the true joy of the outdoors because he spends most of the day trying to set up camp. Or, watching Seungcheol set up camp while he keeps a lookout for the bears.

Not only does Seungcheol _refuse_ to use a map like some macho male stereotype, it turns out that he doesn’t really know how to pitch a tent either.

In a manner of speaking.

Before they entered the park they stopped by a camping goods store and stocked up on the supplies: tents, a burner, sleeping bags. Seungcheol had paid for most of it with his credit card and with a swagger of assurance that Jihoon couldn't help but trust.

As it turns out, this was a bad idea.

When they unload the tent from its packaging, a gust of wind blows the instruction page away.

“It’s cool. We don’t need it—I’m a pro at pitching tents.” Seungcheol had said with a sly grin and a wink that Jihoon couldn’t help but laugh at.

Now he’s officially withdrawing his previous laughter because it seems like they might have to sleep in the van after all. Seungcheol is taking forever to erect their tent and doing a bloody awful job of it too.

He begins by unpacking and organising the tent equipment into bundles on the tarp, then stands with his arms on his hips looking at them as if they will magically form a tent by the power of his gaze alone. Seungcheol tugs the tarp over his head and tries to erect the tent from the inside out, Then mutters 'that's not going to work,' and then has a minor panic attack as he gets lost in the tarp folds and needs Vernon to help rescue him.

“How’s it going?” Jihoon speaks up when he watches Seungcheol floundering in his own confusion for quite a while.

“Fine. Almost there.” He assures. "There are still a few kinks to work out."

Jihoon really isn't sure he likes the way Seungcheol says that.

Then Seungcheol arranges the longest tent poles in a square, tries to attach them at the corners with more force than they probably warrant and only succeeds in bending one in half. Jihoon rolls his eyes as Seungcheol glares at the pole for not cooperating before throwing a tent peg and Mingyu’s head in frustration.

“Cheol? Do you know what you’re doing?” Jihoon asks carefully.

“Yeah. Of course. I got this.” Seungcheol says, doing his boy scout thing, with his steely determination to erect this tent and save the day.

Seungcheol’s bending all the poles now, to match the first pole he bent. He’s bending things which Jihoon is almost certain aren’t meant to be bent out of shape. He's not doing it hard but it's sort of insistent, and focused. Jihoon hadn't even known that bending  _could_  be focused.

Jihoon feels like he should be helping, or objecting. But Seungcheol’s bending things too quickly for him to really think of a good objection.

“Cheol. I’m pretty sure if those tent poles were meant to be bent, they would have come that way.” Jihoon says uncertainly.

Seungcheol cuts him an unreadable look, then tosses aside the pole he'd been mangling to assess his inventory again. He mutters something under his breath about pop up tents being easier - which Jihoon doesn't really like the sound of - before he starts trying to bend the poles back into their original shape and inadvertently snaps one in half. That too gets lobbed at Mingyu’s head.

Next Seungcheol uses the calculator function on his phone to work out a series of complicated, and possibly imaginary, measurements. Jihoon assumes there's some sort of sensible explanation for this, but Seungcheol doesn't seem to want to give it to him. In fact, he keeps shying away every time Jihoon tries to peek over his shoulder.

He uses these bizarre calculations and a twig to help him draw a rough sketch in the dirt of what the tent will hopefully look like when he’s finished.

“I don’t see how sketching out the finished product is going to help you assemble it Cheol.” Jihoon says pointedly. “Besides, your sketch doesn’t even match the tent illustration on the box so that can’t be right. Tents are not supposed to have chimneys for starters. What you’ve drawn here is a poorly designed house.”

“Don’t stifle my creativity Jihoon. I know what I’m doing.” Seungcheol huffs. “Besides the tent never looks like the picture on the box. That’s just a generic tent picture. Our tent should look like this.” Seungcheol gestures at the floor, as if the crude drawing of a tent with windows and a chimney should satisfy Jihoon’s doubts.

Which it does not, if anything it's made him even more concerned.

Jihoon watches Seungcheol distrustfully as he retreats to the van and brings back a hammer and a hack saw and announces he’s going to make some adjustments to the tent equipment and that’s pretty much when Jihoon intervenes.

“Seungcheol, please tell me you’ve been camping more than once in your life.” Jihoon snaps.

Seungcheol’s shoulders tense, the edges of his mouth go thin. “I have! It’s just been a while.”

“Define a while?” Jihoon persists.

Seungcheol won't meet his eyes and there's a very faint flush to his cheeks, and  _oh_ , he is the most ridiculous person Jihoon has ever met. Jihoon has a moment of realization, followed by exasperation so sharp that he could dice apples with it. 

Turns out Seungcheol has only gone camping once before, and it was in junior school. More than two decades ago.

Hell, Jihoon has more camping experience than he does at this stage. When Jihoon expresses his disbelief at Seungcheol’s lack of camping skills, Seungcheol protests, "You think you can do any better?"

“No. But I’m not the one who suggested it, drove us around for three hours to get here and got the kids all excited about it!”  He snaps back.

Seungcheol pouts at him but doesn't argue against the truth of it. “Are you gonna help me or not?” He says, with an expectant wave of his hand.

Between Jihoon's college degree and Seungcheol’s worldly experience, neither of them can make the tent stand much taller than waist-length, and neither of them can do much about the sagging plastic folds. 

Mingyu and Wonwoo manage to erect their tent a little more successfully. But they have to use all of their own tent pegs, as well as most of Vernon’s just to keep it upright.

So that leaves Vernon to erect his using only three pegs to keep it in place. When he’s finished, it looks less like a tent and more like a tarp lying on the ground.

Vernon doesn’t seem to mind though, too excited with the concept of camping to find foul.

They send Mingyu and Wonwoo to fetch supper. Which turns out to be a monumentally terrible idea.

They return with 12 bags of marshmallows, three packets of hot dogs, a can of peaches and beer.

Jihoon inspects the meagre haul with a glare so fierce he’s practically cooking the hot-dogs with its intensity. “Is this all you got? This isn’t supper! I gave you a list!” He says, through a frown that's as disapproving as he can make it.

“We lost that list and that’s all we could remember.” Mingyu says simply.

“What do you mean _we_?” Wonwoo interjects before Jihoon can start yelling things at them. “You’re the one who folded it up into a paper aeroplane and aimed it out the window!” He accuses.

“I wasn’t aiming for the window, I was aiming for your head!” Mingyu defends, he seems to think that's the important part.

“Why do I have to do everything around here!” Jihoon complains to the world at large, and goes to skewer the hotdogs over the campfire.

There non-supper is pretty much a disaster.

They burn half the hotdogs, and the beer is warm by the time they open it. Jihoon drinks it anyway because nobody thought to bring extra water and he’s not risking drinking from the river. Knowing his luck he’ll probably contract cholera from it or—smallpox or something.

Mingyu cuts himself on the edge of a can once, Jihoon thinks he sees the shadow of a bear twice, and Vernon’s tent is blown away by a strong gust of wind a 500 times!

Though Jihoon could be wrong about that, he's been known to exaggerate when he's testy.

* * *

 

After their not—supper, things begin to improve.

They gather around the campfire as the sun sets and the forest is enclosed in darkness. And possibly bears.

The air is clear and easy, the sleeping bags and blankets they've spread on the ground comfortable, and there's a sense of openness, of no more worries that Jihoon knows is just a delusion, but it's a delusion he'll cling to.

Jihoon rolls the taste of the cheap beer over his tongue while the rest of his body feels loose and sleepy. The fire burns shadows over his eyelids when he closes them, and Seungcheol is sitting next to him, feeding wood and bits of paper to keep it alive. 

Jihoon isn't by nature a particularly expressive person, but he's in the middle of the woods and no one else will ever have to know. So he takes another swig of the beer, which is too warm by now but it still does the trick. He says, "This is surprisingly _nice_.”

Seungcheol turns his head towards him and smiles. The fire lights up his face softly, and Jihoon feels the lazy desire that he always feels when he looks at Seungcheol, which by now should no longer be remarkable yet somehow remains so.

“Okay—who wants to tell the first Ghost story?” Vernon asks cheerfully.

“I’ll go.” Seungcheol pipes up.

Jihoon pats him on the back. “Make it good Cheol—you can redeem yourself with a good scary story.”

Seungcheol clears his throat and begins. “Once upon a time-“

“Excuse me,” Mingyu interjects almost immediately. “But are you seriously starting with ‘once upon a time’? Is this a fairy tale or a ghost story you’re telling?”

Seungcheol frowns at him. “How else am I supposed to start it?” he says waspishly.

“Not with once upon a time—that’s how airy fairy, fairy tales begin. Start it with _—‘one cold and lonely night.”_ Mingyu suggests instead.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, takes a breath and starts again. “Okay then. _One night_ —when it was cold and lonely. A young girl-“

“Make it a guy.” Vernon interrupts.

Seungcheol exhales. “ _Why_?”

“So we can relate to the character more. Makes it scarier for the audience.” Vernon argues.

Seungcheol scowls at Vernon in a way which suggests his opinion doesn't, or shouldn't count.

“Okay— _fine!_ ” Seungcheol says stiffly, there's more than a touch of annoyance to his voice now. But he takes it from the top once more.  “ _One dark and lonely night_. A young boy is left alone-“

“What’s his name?” Wonwoo asks quietly.

Seungcheol closes his eyes and tightens his jaw. “Does it matter? It’s not a real story.” he protests. He doesn't quite sound irritated but only just.

Wonwoo throws a hand up. “Don’t say that! You’ll ruin the mood.” He whines.

“For the love of god, stop interrupting him.” Jihoon snaps. He suspects this is a series of interruptions they're going to be having more than once. God knows Seungcheol doesn’t have the patience for it. “Just give him a name Cheol, make your life easier.” He says calmly.

“Fine.” Seungcheol snaps and takes a deep breath. “ _One dark and lonely night_. Young _Seungcheol_ is left alone-“

“Don’t call him after yourself—it’s bad luck. I think.” Mingyu says stupidly.

Seungcheol looks like he desperately wants to thump his fist on something, but there's nobody in range. He settles for waving it in a manner he obviously thinks is purposeful.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Jihoon groans into his palm and honestly wonders again if it's worth trying to reign in his temper. He should let Seungcheol punch somebody.

Seungcheol grinds his teeth together. “Am I telling this story or are you?”

“Can he be named after me?” Wonwoo adds, now that everyone is adding something. “I always wanted a story with me as the main character.”

“You’re not very relatable as a main character Wonu. Or interesting. Or very _likable_ now that I think about it. If you were in a horror movie I’d probably be vouching for the serial killer.” Vernon says honestly.

“That’s not fair Vernon. Wonwoo probably IS the serial killer.” Mingyu adds.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at them, a not entirely happy one. “Serial killers can be interesting and relatable.” He says, clearly offended at the suggestion he's not interesting enough to carry a story but not the suggestion that he’s a potential serial killer.

“Can you all keep quiet and let Seungcheol finish, please!” Jihoon snaps.

Seungcheol sighs, with a certain overblown sense of frustration and takes it from the top. Again. “ _One dark and lonely night_ , Jeon Wonwoo is left alone at home when his parents go out of town for a party.”

“My parents never really went to parties out of town. Could you change it to a science conference? They went to a lot of science conferences.” Wonwoo says.

Seungcheol gives an irritated shake of his head, like the detail doesn't matter at all in regards to his story. “This isn’t a fucking news report Wonu. I’m not trying to be authentic I’m just trying to tell the fucking story!” He says snippily.

“Alright Cheol babe, calm down.” Jihoon coos, rubbing Seungcheol’s knee.

Seungcheol raises both eyebrows meaningfully at him and mouths the word ‘babe’ at him. Jihoon blushes and then waves a hand for him to continue.

Seungcheol takes another deep breath. “ _One night,_ Jeon Wonwoo-“

“You missed dark and lonely out, descriptions are important Cheol.“ Vernon feels compelled to point out.

Seungcheol glares at him. Correction: he glares at everyone. “IF ANY OF YOU INTERRUPT ME ONE MORE FUCKING TIME I’M GOING TO KILL EVERYONE!” he yells. The sound echoes through the area and a flock of birds disperse from the nearby trees.

“Alright Seungcheol. It’s okay! Shush now.” Jihoon coos, rubbing his back in soothing circles. “Remember if you kill them now, we don’t have any shovels to bury their corpses. We’ll have to dig their graves with our hands.” He whispers darkly.

Seungcheol sighs and nods, calm once more. “ _One dark and lonely night,_ Jeon Wonwoo is left alone in his house when his parents go out of town for a _science conference_. This was fine with Wonwoo, especially since he had his faithful dog— _Mingyu_ —to protect him throughout the night.” Seungcheol says, nodding at Mingyu who seems happy to have been included.

There's a very brief, almost unnoticeable twitch and a sidelong glance from Wonwoo at this addition to the story, but he doesn’t protest.

“That night, Wonwoo made himself something to eat, and sat down at the kitchen table. Turning on the radio to his favourite station— _the science station_ —he was surprised to hear a news bulletin declaring that an avenged murderer was on the loose.”

“What was the murderers name?” Vernon asks.

“ **It was me** — _I—am—the—murderer_. I will murder you if you don’t shut the fuck up.” Seungcheol says, all half smile and threat. Two expressions which really shouldn't go together and certainly not so well.

Vernon spreads his hands and leans back, surrendering gracefully.

Seungcheol continues.

“The radio advised that people secure all windows and doors as a safety precaution. So, with his dog by his side, Wonwoo locked the front and back doors, then he went from window to window, and locked each of them one at a time. He reassured himself that everything would be fine. Especially with Mingyu by his side and his parents would be home shortly, anyway.

So, Wonwoo had a pleasant, peaceful evening, and finally decided around eleven o'clock that it was time for bed. He climbed the stairs to his bedroom, and slid under the big, warm blanket on his bed. Before closing his eyes, he reached his hand down under the bed, and allowed Mingyu to lick--“

“I WHAT!” Wonwoo’s irritated protest cuts Seungcheol's sentence in half.

Vernon tries to hide a laugh behind an empty beer bottle. Mingyu doesn't bother with subterfuge and leers.

Wonwoo glares at them both with quiet venom.

“—his hand. **Lick his hand!”** Seungcheol finishes loudly. “Mingyu’s a dog in this story you idiot! And he licks your hand is all! You’re the one who wanted to be the main character!” he points out.

Wonwoo exhales in a way that's unimpressed, “I didn’t know it would involve Mingyu licking me! I don’t want Mingyu licking any part of me.” He drawls out 'Mingyu,' like he’s a disease.

“Change the characters name!” Wonwoo protests.

Seungcheol flexes his jaw in a way that's clearly angry. “I ain’t changing shit! _Mingyu licks you and you love it!”_ he hisses like a man possessed.

Jihoon stifles a laugh into Seungcheol’s shoulder. Wonwoo flails his arms as if he’s clearing invisible cobwebs out of his line of sight. Mingyu leers some more. Vernon’s tent blows away again.

“Everyone—calm down. Let Seungcheol finish!” Jihoon says, raising a hand to ask for quiet. “Go on Seungcheol, please finish.” He snickers.

Seungcheol narrows his eyes at Wonwoo before he continues. “Wonwoo let Mingyu lick his hand _every night_ before he went to be, because it comforted him. And secretly he _enjoyed_ it and wanted to be licked elsewhere by Mingyu!” he says, eyeballing Wonwoo.

“Nice.” Mingyu grins.

Wonwoo’s right back to flailing his arms again and yelling unflattering things and Jihoon suspects he might try and run away again.

“Wonwoo, for fucks sakes calm down he’s just teasing.” Jihoon yells, gesturing for calm before turning to face Seungcheol. “Can you not aggravate him, _please_.”

“He started it.” Seungcheol huffs, pulling a face at him under his eyebrows.

“Rise above it Cheol. You’re the grown up here.” Jihoon says and Seungcheol tilts his head to one side, as if in apology.

“After drifting off to sleep—“ Seungcheol continues.

“I forgot what happened at the start—can you start over?” Vernon asks quietly, but is silenced with a quelling glare.

Seungcheol leans forward, just a little, and the light draws a line of shadow down his nose.

_“After drifting off to sleep for a few minutes, Wonwoo awoke to the sound of a scratching noise at his bedroom window. He eyed the window nervously, then reminded himself that the whole house was locked and he was safe. He stuck his hand under his bed and felt Mingyu’s slobbery tongue cross over the palm of his hand. He sighed in relief and went back to sleep._

_An hour or so later he sat up in bed...he had heard footsteps in the hallway, and crept out of bed to see if it was possibly just his parents returning from their party. Seeing nothing, he returned to bed. Stuck his hand under the bed, Mingyu licked his palm and he went to sleep._

_A few moments later the dripping started. A heavy **drip—drip—drip** , that echoed through the entire house. _

_Wonwoo climbed out of bed, walked downstairs into the kitchen and secured all the taps. Then went back to his room, climbed into bed, put his hand under the bed and Mingyu licked his palm._

_Just as he was about to drift off again, he heard it again._

**_Drip—drip—drip.”_ ** Seungcheol says, drawing out the words with a smile like they have some sort of meaning.

The three idiots are silently now, listening intently.

_“If the dripping wasn't coming from the kitchen, Wonwoo assumes it must be coming from the bathroom. So he jumped out of bed, went to the bathroom and tightened all the taps in basin and shower._

_Satisfied he’d silenced the noise, he climbed back into bed, stuck his hand under the bed, and felt Mingyu lick his palm._

_He tried to settle, but he couldn’t. So aware that the sound was still echoing in the house. The more he tried to ignore it—the louder it became._

**_Drip—drip—drip._** _”_ Seungcheol says slowly. Jihoon suspects he's actually rather enjoying telling the story now that they’ve all stopped interrupting him.

 _“Wonwoo’s a little scared and annoyed at this point. Where could the sound be coming from?”_ Seungcheol spreads his hands as if the explanation could be found there.

_“Although he was a little afraid, he couldn’t sleep with that sound echoing in his room. So he jumped out of bed and started listening carefully to the source of the noise._

**_Drip—Drip—Drip._ **

_It wasn’t coming from downstairs, it wasn’t coming from the kitchen or the bathroom. It was coming from somewhere in his room. He walked over to the wardrobe where the echo was coming from._

**_Drip—Drip—Drip._ **

_There, hanging from a hanger in the wardrobe was Mingyu the dog; skinned with a pool of blood dripping underneath him. There was pinned to his foot a note in messy writing—but the message was clear as day.”_

 Seungcheol pauses for dramatic effect; the campfire light gives his tilted down head a sharp, sinister quality.

 ** _"Humans can lick too."_** He finishes.

Jihoon raises an eyebrow because that's...that's actually fucking terrifying. Though he thinks he vaguely remembers reading something like that on Creepy Pasta.

Jihoon feels a shiver run up his spine and he cuddles closer to Seungcheol’s side. “Fuck, that was a good story Cheol.” He whispers.  

Seungcheol inclines his head, he seems genuinely pleased to have creeped the hell out of Jihoon.

Wonwoo makes a rude noise. “I’ve heard better. Hardly terrifying at all.”

Seungcheol tosses his head like an irritated horse “Well—you guys are just desensitised to traditional horror stories.”

“Or maybe you’re just shit at telling stories.” Mingyu accuses.

Seungcheol pulls a face that's just readable in the darkness, he looks dramatically offended. “Maybe if you all didn’t keep interrupting me it would have flowed better!” he snaps.

“Alright, shut up you three it was a good story. Now it’s time for—“ Jihoon pauses mid-sentence when he hears a sharp, clean noise, like a snapping twig. He twitches his head sideways. “What was that? _Was it a bear?”_

Seungcheol's head sweeps to the side, eyes searching the empty space Jihoon had addressed. But, of course, there's nothing there, nothing he can see anyway. “It’s nothing Jihoon. Seriously, what’s your issue with bears Sweetpea?” He asks, sounding bored, which somehow makes it worse.

Jihoon slowly turns his head back around. He tries to swallow twice, finally manages it. When he speaks his throat crackles over the words. “They’re scary.”

Vernon snorts loudly into his beer, Mingyu made a choking noise around his hot-dog, and Wonwoo rolls his eyes.

"Bears," Jihoon announces, loudly over the sounds of his so-called children disparaging him, "are dangerous animals."

“Nah! They’re cute and fluffy!” Vernon laughs.

Jihoon narrows his eyes at him. “You think so do you? Well, did you ever hear about that guy who lived out in the wilderness with bears?”

“No. Why? What happened?” Seungcheol asks curiously.   

Jihoon settles down next to him again, lets Seungcheol throw a shielding arm over his shoulder and begins to explain his fear.

_“I heard about it a few years ago. I don’t remember what the guy’s name was, but he was a researcher who was obsessed with researching bears in their natural habitat. He spent twenty years of his life integrating with a sloth of bears. He ate with them, slept in their habitat, lived with them day to day. He essentially became one of them and used the opportunity to video documentaries of his life with the bears for research._

_After a few years, he got married and his wife was accepted slowly by the bears too. They both moved out into the forest, gave up their civilian life to live with the bears._

_They had a friend who would come up and visited them every few months. He was an old research associate of theirs or something, but he came to update them on civilian life. One month, after a particular harsh winter he went into the forest to meet them, but he couldn’t find them anywhere. All he could find was their camera equipment._

_Thinking nothing of it—he took the discarded camera and recordings with him. Assuming his friends had ventured deeper into the forest with the bears._

_The next month, when he still couldn’t find them, he decided to watch the recording from the discarded camera he found. The first few hours were just short snippets of the bears daily lives and the two researchers living amongst them happily. The last piece of footage was from the discarded camera filming a view of the forest with no bears in sight. It was an unusual angle to have a research camera in and the footage lasted until the camera ran out of power. Curiously, the man hiked up the volume of the recording—and that’s when he heard it._

_The sound of the bears tearing the researchers limb from limb. Eating the man and his wife alive._

_After twenty years of living amongst them—they turned on them because they were hungry and all they saw was food.”_ Jihoon finishes.

Seungcheol's quiet for long enough that Jihoon turns his head to look at him again. He’s staring wide eyed and slack jawed at him.

“Jesus fucking Christ Jihoon! What the hell!” Seungcheol gasps.

“What?” Jihoon asks, he turns to look at the three idiots. Mingyu is frozen stiffly in place; all the colour has left Vernon's face, he’s pale and sweaty now and Wonwoo is staring at him with a horrified sort of panic.

“Is this a r—real—real story?” Vernon stutters.  

Jihoon nods slowly. “Yeah—I saw a documentary about it.” He replies, and the look of horror on Vernon's face is absolute.

“I don’t wanna camp anymore!” Mingyu wheezes out a single breath, he looks like he might be sick.

“Me neither. I’m scared. I want to go home.” Wonwoo’s voice is barely audible, there's horror, fascination and a genuine fear in his eyes.

“What? Oh my god—are you guys scared?” Jihoon says, sounding somewhere between frustrated and disbelieving.

“Way to go Jihoon.” Seungcheol claps, makes it sound like Jihoon was terrifying people on purpose. He really has that disapproving parent tone down. “Scaring the kids before bedtime. Tut—tut.”  He says, because clearly he's an expert at parenting all of a sudden.

Jihoon shoves Seungcheol when he laughs. “I don’t know what the big deal is. Your story was scarier.”

Seungcheol quirks a meaningful brow at him. “My story wasn’t _real_ though.”

“Can I share a tent with somebody please. Everyone else gets to share, it’s not fair that I have to be all alone.” Vernon says sullenly. Jihoon’s not quite sure what emotion he's going for over there, expression somewhere between irritation and wounded abandonment. “I’m pretty sure my tent isn’t going to protect me from the bear attack.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous Vernon. A tent— _even a well erected one_ —won’t stand a chance against a bear attack! That bear is going to rip through the tent like wet paper. If anything, working through the tent will make the bear more determined, hungrier and angrier.” Jihoon explains.

Which, on the whole, is probably not the most reassuring thing for Jihoon to say right now. He's too tired to be anything other than honest. Though he suspects it's the clumsy kind of honest that's liable to make people cry.

It wouldn't be the first time.

And surprise, surprise—it does.

If someone had told Jihoon a week ago that he'd be sharing a tent in the woods with four thieves because he made three of them cry.

Jihoon probably wouldn't have been that surprised, if he's brutally honest with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Thought i'd forgotten about this story did ya! I was just busy starting yet another story XD  
> 2) That bear story is true. I'm not even joking.  
> 3) Seungcheol can't be good at everything. He's bad at pitching tents I've decided.  
> 4) Hope you enjoy! Feedback appreciated.


	10. Phishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A walk through the woods and the worst breakfast ever.

Sharing a tent with four other grown men is not a fun time

Seungcheol is looking even less pleased about it than Jihoon feels. Seeing as he’s situated himself between Jihoon and Vernon, and Vernon’s night terrors mean he’s getting assaulted by sleepy flailing limbs.

Wonwoo is at the far end of the tent, sleeping like a corpse, hands crossed over his chest. Mingyu is in the middle and taking up _far_ too much space.

The tent is essentially 80% Mingyu’s limbs and 20% everyone else.  

It’s a two-man tent, so Jihoon has no idea how they’ve all managed to fit inside. He’s sure each one of them has had to sacrifice a limb just to stay inside.

“Hey Jihoon?” Seungcheol whispers and an arm is suddenly curled round Jihoon’s waist and it's strangely intimate in the dark. In a way he isn't prepared for, or isn't used to, or maybe just doesn't have any sort of reference for.

They met less than a week ago, had sex for the first time last night and are now on a family camping holiday with their three children.

His Facebook _‘It’s complicated’_ relationship status suddenly makes all the sense in the world.

Jihoon cracks an eye open. “Yes?”

“Are you awake?”

“No, I’m sleeping.” Jihoon replies in his 'obviously' tone of voice.

Seungcheol chuckles. His fingers are moving under Jihoon’s shirt, dipping between ribs like he finds them fascinating, and Jihoon is trying to pretend the sensation isn't sending little shivers all the way through him.

Seungcheol falls quiet, but Jihoon can sense his wakefulness, even with his eyes shut. Jihoon lets himself be pulled fully awake by the gentle pressure of Seungcheol’s hand, the light, rhythmic sweeping of his thumb across his skin.

Seungcheol slides a hand under Jihoon’s waistband, thumbing idly at his hipbone. It’s not with intent, Jihoon thinks, or at least not the kind of sexual intent his body is choosing to translate it into. He thinks Seungcheol just wants to touch him.

Which is nice.

Nobody’s just wanted to _touch_ him for no reason before. It’s confusing.   

“This is impossible. I can’t sleep like this.” He grumbles.

“Sorry, I’ll stop.” Seungcheol mumbles, retracting his hand.

“No, not that. This.” Jihoon gestures expansively. To the tent, to the other three men occupying it, to Vernon’s flailing limbs.

Seungcheol just pulls him down into the warm, heavy curve of his body, breathes a laugh into the side of his neck. “We could sneak out and go to the other tent?” he says, nuzzling under Jihoon’s jaw.

Jihoon turns until he can look at him. “You mean the one that’s bent out of shape because you can’t admit to not being good at something?”

Seungcheol winces in a comical way that Jihoon absolutely does not find cute. “Yeah, or we could sleep in the van?”

“Hmm—“ Jihoon twists and pecks Seungcheol on the lips. “Okay.”

* * *

 

The walk to the van involves a lot of twigs crunching underfoot, a lot of branches shifting and bending in, and a lot of walking in the darkness because neither of them thought to bring a torch.

They’re mostly relying on the light of the moon to navigate their way around, which would work if the trees weren’t so fucking tall and gloomy around them.

So basically there’s a lot of Jihoon bumping into things and cursing, and Seungcheol bumping into things and pretending like he isn’t, because he’s back into that macho _‘I can do everything’_ mood and everything now includes having night vision.

There’s also a rather unpleasant amount of unexpected diversions that lead them right back to the campsite. Which is beginning to feel a lot like home—now that they’ve accidentally circled back to it five fucking times in the last hour!

“Seungcheol—let’s just give up.” Jihoon sobs.

“No—I know where we’re going this time.” Seungcheol insists. He lifts an arm, points across the field. “It’s definitely this way. C’mon.” He adds and judging by the look on his face this is non-negotiable.

Jihoon’s beginning to think Seungcheol is enjoying this midnight jaunt in the woods. Possibly using any excuse to get away from the kids for a while.

When he assembled his gang—Seungcheol probably thought he would be more like the leader of an awesome heist crew and less _'single parent to three teenage men who've decided they're now in the acting out stage of their development.'_

They head back into the forest, which has somehow become colder and darker and eerier than before. The trees give a loud rush when the force of the wind hits them. The movement breaks the field up into jagged pieces, the full moon lighting an untidy path through the grass.

Jihoon doesn’t hesitate to slide his palm against Seungcheol’s and lace their fingers, because this place officially wins points in the 'creepy outdoors' stakes.

It gets even worse when the moon disappears behind the clouds, and now it’s all feeling like the pre-credits sequence of every horror movie ever made.

If horror movies have taught him one thing; it’s that you shouldn’t split up from the rest of the group. If this was a movie, Seungcheol and him are playing the camp counsellors that sneak off to have sex in the woods while the killer lurks in the shadows.

If this _was_ a horror movie, they’re probably the characters that get killed before the main character is even introduced. Their complete lack of foresight means they don't even merit a space in the opening credits. Their sole purpose in the movie is purely to be killed as graphically as possible, to provide tension to all the night time woodland encounters that come after. They’ll be the gruesome corpses teenagers talk about and come looking for or something.

Seungcheol doesn’t seem to think so, seeing as he’s giving Jihoon coy little glances with veritable hearts shining out of his eyes. He obviously thinks Jihoon's holding his hand out of choice instead of self preservation, and the 'moon's hitting your eye like a big pizza pie' kinda shit, which makes this the opening scene to a Romantic Comedy instead.

Jihoon debates the merits of telling him romantic comedies don’t happen in the woods at night.

“Yanno, you’re really breath-taking in the moonlight.” Seungcheol says sincerely, voice cutting through the distracted tangent of Jihoon's thoughts.

Jihoon flushes, but refuses to smile. Polite conversation is one thing, but this is hardly the time for romantic declarations. “You know what else is breath-taking? Getting murdered in the woods. Let’s find the van shall we.”

“Do you know what movie this reminds me of?” Seungcheol asks, undaunted.  

Jihoon looks around, debates with himself. “The Blair Witch Project?”

"I was gonna say Brokeback Mountain," Seungcheol says, slanting a sly grin his way.

Jihoon tries— _actually_ _tries_ —to put that into some kind of manageable context, but—how exactly? They’re not even cowboys. There are no horses. It’s too dark to see the mountains and they have lube!

"Don't even think about stealing any of my shirts for your shrine. I need them all," Jihoon says instead of arguing his point.

Seungcheol smiles warmly. "If I had to steal one thing from you, I think I would aim higher than your shirt, just saying."

Jihoon gives him a puzzled look.

Seungcheol looks back at him like the answer's fairly self explanatory but Jihoon just can't help himself, because there are some things you have to say out loud.

“Your heart, Sweetpea.” Seungcheol explains with an eyebrow waggle.

“Wow, that’s even gayer than Brokeback mountain.” Jihoon snorts, rather than risk them having an awkward moment which will turn them  _both_  into teenage girls.

Seungcheol looks briefly disappointed that Jihoon isn’t letting him romance him in the woods. He’s meaningfully quiet at him for long enough that Jihoon wonders if he's ever going to speak again.

Suddenly there’s a huge, dark, blurry shape in the crunchy leaves to their left. The dark, blurry figure seems to have almost materialised next to them, which proves their stealthy woodland instincts are probably shot to shit.

Jihoon jumps a mile, makes a noise which takes at least ten points off his stoic manliness rating and latches onto Seungcheol’s jacket, which inadvertently prevents Seungcheol from reaching for his gun.

Seungcheol growls at the darkness—like that’s going to work.

Jihoon’s fight or flight response does its usual demented jump and he ignores it because neither of those are going to help him in the slightest. Hell, running might make the killer chase him on principle, which is  _terrifying_.

“Hello there.” The figure says, stepping out of the shadows and coming into view. Now there’s a bright torch being aimed straight at their faces and Jihoon can’t see a thing.

There's a crunch of footsteps, and then Seungcheol's pulling Jihoon behind him, angrily blotting out the light with his face. There's a smudge of dirt on his forehead and dangerous glint in his eye.

Jihoon peeks around Seungcheol’s shoulder at the figure--who looks like some kind of overgrown boy scout, with his forest green uniform and cap and yellow neckerchief.

What’s he doing out here in the woods? Is he lost?

Jihoon thinks he perhaps wondered into the forest to sell cookies once upon a time, and became lost, growing up amongst the woodland creatures, that banded together like the animals in ‘The Jungle Book’ to raise and nurture hi—

“I’m sorry guys.” The lost boy scout holds his hands up, palms outwards. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Soonyoung—the park ranger.”

And— _okay_ —yeah….a park ranger makes a lot more sense.

It’s less interesting though.

“I saw your torch light swinging through the trees from my perch, and decided to investigate. Most people don’t go meandering around the park at night.” Soonyoung provides. He looks far too neat and disapproving in the faux authority of his uniform. 

Seungcheol is still growling, like coming across a park ranger in the forest is a worse development than say— _a serial killer._

Soonyoung takes two steps forward and tries to look like he's in no way peering over Seungcheol’s shoulder at Jihoon. “You shouldn’t be out here late at night.”

Seungcheol makes a graceless snorting noise, and pulls Jihoon behind him protectively. “Why? Is it against the forest law or something?” He sneers.

 “No—it’s just dangerous I suppose. Lots of crevices and cliffs for people to blindly walk off. And you might find yourself walking aimlessly in circles if you’re not careful. The forest has a way of—messing with a persons mind.” Soonyoung explains.

“We’ll, we’re managing just fine.” Seungcheol _lies_ , because they’re clearly very lost.

“Where are you guys headed?” Soonyoung asks, ignoring Seungcheol in favour of craning well within what Jihoon considers his personal bubble.

Soonyoung seems to find pointing a torch at him is more fun than pointing it at Seungcheol. So hooray for him being special, and Jihoon means that entirely sarcastically, since being special has gone amazingly badly for him so far.

“None of your business.” Seungcheol says, tight like he's restraining himself from doing something violent.

Soonyoung’s expression twists into something unhappy over the stark beam of light.

Jihoon knows Seungcheol’s present company hasn’t exactly given him the opportunity to flex his polite communication skills and sociability, but he fears Seungcheol’s eyebrows might actually sprain if he glares any harder.

The glaring seems to be working because Soonyoung backs off slowly. “I was just trying to help.” He huffs.

Jihoon gets tired of Seungcheol shielding him likes he’s an especially delicate flower and steps out from behind him. Seungcheol’s eyebrows just look insulted now. Insulted in his direction.

Soonyoung's attention was elsewhere a moment ago, focused on the cluster of trees in the distance. But it sharpens and hones in on Jihoon now. Dark eyes find and hold him, blinking in an expression that is more doubt than curiosity. Jihoon resists the urge to squirm.

“We were just looking for our van.” Jihoon says, gesturing in some sort of awkward and probably unhelpful way.

“Our campsite didn’t exactly pan out and we were planning on camping in the van instead.” He tells Soonyoung earnestly. Because he’s a sharer

Soonyoung studies Jihoon carefully and makes a dubious noise in his throat. He points the flashlight off across the field and up the road. “The car park’s just over there—follow this path and you’ll see the lights in the distance. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.” Jihoon says, then turns to Seungcheol and gives him a significant look to remind him of his manners.

“Thank you.” Seungcheol says. It's amazing how he makes that sound exactly the same as ' _Fuck you_.' Jihoon really has to help him work on his murderous tone.

Soonyoung waves at them and then heads back the way he came.

Seungcheol glares at him over his shoulder until he’s out of sight. A sort of suspicious, molten glare of terrible suspicion and disapproval.

“Dude—you could have tried to be little friendlier back there.” Jihoon scolds.

Seungcheol looks at him like he's just asked him to eat razor blades. “Why? He’s a park ranger Jihoon—that’s like a cop— _of the forest!”_ He says. Because obviously Seungcheol’s a criminal and anyone in a uniform must be a cop somehow.

“Then what better way to avert suspicion then to act friendly instead of suspicious and angry.” Jihoon points out, and Seungcheol frowns so hard that it looks like it hurts.

“There was something about him I didn’t like.” He explains it all like it's perfectly sensible, and maybe to thieves it is. Sometimes Seungcheol seems to forget that Jihoon is an ordinary person and not a criminal, that there needs to be explanations that go along with ' _My gut says so_ ' or ' _I'm getting a bad vibe_ ' or ' _Come live with me at my house by the lake and let’s drive speedboats together_.'

Seungcheol just says things like they’re meant to be understood and make sense right away!

“I also didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” Seungcheol adds, sounding quietly disgruntled.

Jihoon blushes. “What’s the matter Cheol? You jealous?” He says teasingly, nudging Seungcheol playfully.

“Yes.” Seungcheol grunts.

“Oh.”

Well—that settles that.

No beating around the bush for Seungcheol.

Jihoon had thrown that out as a joke really, he hadn't thought it could push Seungcheol into actually admitting he was jealous when random strangers checked him out.

Jihoon doesn't make any sort of joke about that, he's damned if he isn't tempted though.

They follow the path a little further until they see a faint light off to the right. “Hey, look—what are those lights?” Jihoon points, stepping off the path.

He crouches behind a log, lays his hand against the damp moss, waits until Seungcheol is a long quiet shape over his left shoulder.

“It looks like another campsite.” Seungcheol’s voice is low and close to his ear.

Seungcheol leans farther over Jihoon’s shoulder and squints at the space in the distance. “Let’s get a closer look.”

They both stand and make their way further into the clearing. 

There’s a campfire in the centre, with the dying flicker of flame and they move around a poorly erected tent, quietly, carefully—barely making a sound.

There are another two tents nearby—the smaller of which is lying flat on the ground.

It all looks disturbingly familiar—probably because it’s _their_ fucking campsite!

Jihoon’s pretty sure that’s Vernon’s foot poking out from underneath the tent flap, and that’s Mingyu’s snoring he can hear.

“Uhm—Seungcheol?” Jihoon begins to say, but it seems Seungcheol has already reached the same conclusion, because his hands ball into angry fists.

“FUCKING HELL!” Seungcheol roars.

Jihoon groans and slides down to the dirt on his knees.

“There is no escape from this forest. You were right! This is like the Blair Witch Project! We’re literally going to be stuck here for the rest of our lives! Walking in circles until we grow old and die! These woods are cursed! Cursed! COME AT ME WITCH!” Seungcheol says, still yelling his frustration into the woods.

“Seungcheol, calm down. We’re just tired. We’ll see more clearly in the morning.” Jihoon mumbles, crawling into the second, slightly dilapidated tent as Seungcheol points at the trees and calls them several unflattering names.

Seungcheol does eventually calm down, and reappears in Jihoon’s line of vision, crouching at the entrance of the tent. He starts pulling the laces of Jihoon’s boots undone.

“I’m sorry Jihoonie. I wouldn’t have suggested camping if I thought it would be this exhausting.” Seungcheol agrees in a tone that is almost a sigh—all the proof necessary that he's exhausted too. 

“I promise, the next place we stop at—will be luxurious. I’ll make sure of it. Only the best for my Sweetpea.”

Jihoon thinks about objecting to the 'my' part of that sentence. But he's finding it really hard to think straight after that. He just waves Seungcheol off and toes off his muddy boots.

“Don’t worry about it Cheol. Just get some sleep.” He mumbles as his head hits the sleeping bag.

Seungcheol stretches out beside him in the tent. Which is reassuring in a way he doesn't even know how to put into words.

He isn't sure why, he isn't sure how to explain that without accepting that Seungcheol is his in some way - or that he's Seungcheol's. That they fit together.

There's a yawning chasm of blackness then, like someone hit 'skip chapter' on a DVD.

* * *

Jihoon wakes up in the dilapidated tent in the morning. He had half convinced himself the whole camping in the woods thing was a dream. He's annoyed to discover that it isn't.

He crawls out if his tent to find a squirrel perched outside—watching him—judging his life choices.

The three idiots are awake, sitting bright and animated around the campfire.

They look well rested. _Bastards_.

Seungcheol is there too, looking haggard and pissed off and as tired as ever. He looks significantly less well rested; half asleep perched on a log and dangerously tilting towards the campfire. Jihoon taps his cheek to wake him before he tumbles forward into the fire pit.

The three idiots appear to be arguing over who should get which tin for breakfast. Up for grabs is: A can of peaches, a can of beans and a ‘mystery tin’ with no identifying label.

“Mingyu—I’ll swap you your can of peaches for—this _mystery_ tin.” Vernon suggests, and tries to shake his tin at Mingyu in a tantalizing sort of way.

Mingyu shakes his head emphatically. “No. I’ll stick with my peaches, thanks!”

Vernon remains undeterred. “Okay, but how about this….give me the can of peaches and I’ll give you _—‘The tin of mystery’_.” He rephrases, still holding up the exact same tin.

Mingyu’s eyes widen in approval. “ _Oooohhh_.” He says, gladly handing his tin of peaches over to Vernon.

Jihoon sighs and shakes his head. He really does want to ask about the possibility of some terrible childhood incident. Because there's no way that Mingyu never landed on his head at least once as a child.

Wonwoo looks disappointed that nobody wants to bargain for his tin of beans and Seungcheol falls sideways off the log, and face plants into another smaller log.

He jerks awake then and sits up straight and rolls his shoulders, lip curling up at the edge, and Jihoon knows that face. It's Seungcheol's _'I've been injured and I am bearing it stoically,'_ face.

Jihoon coaxes Seungcheol over and lets him pillow his head on his lap; he supposes it’s his turn to supervise the children anyhow.

“Instead of eating everything separately, why don’t you guys put your cans together and make a better breakfast.” Jihoon suggests, because there is probably an important life lesson here somewhere, one about—sharing and working together, one that he’s duty bound to teach them. _Probably_. Who else is going to do it?

Wonwoo and Mingyu readily agree to Jihoon’s idea. Vernon seems reluctant, as he is now in possession of the coveted tin of peaches. But, when Mingyu’s ‘ _Mystery tin’_ or _‘tin of mystery’_ turns out to be cocktail sausages, Vernon’s suddenly happy to contribute.

* * *

Mingyu insists on cooking, and Jihoon supervises him as he crouches in front of the camping stove, surrounded by a variety of opened cans.

"What are you doing?" Seungcheol asks curiously, waking from his short nap.

"I'm making breakfast for everyone," Mingyu intones seriously. "Using the contents of all the tins we had."

“You used all the tins? In one pan?” Seungcheol says, strolling over to examine Mingyu’s efforts. He eyeballs the concoction in the pan curiously. The pan contains an interesting selection of eggs and beans and sausages, with the occasional peach segment. It's like some sort of experiment.

Jihoon _had_ tried to tell Mingyu not to add the peaches, but Mingyu was very insistent.

Seungcheol makes a face of great displeasure. “What— ** _the_** —hell—Is that supposed to be?”

Mingyu pauses in his very serious cooking ritual, the edge of his mouth turning down just slightly. Sad.

Jihoon directs a reproving look in Seungcheol’s direction. “It’s _breakfast_ Cheol! Mingyu wanted to make everyone breakfast. Because we’re special and important to him. Isn’t that nice?” Jihoon asks him with seriously wide eyes. He hopes to god that Seungcheol gets  _that._  Because he kind of sucks at subtle.

“Uhh. Yeah. Good job Mingyu.” Seungcheol mumbles patting Mingyu’s head, looking sort of proud and worried at the same time.

“Well done Mingyu—it looks delicious.” Jihoon fucking  _lies_ , because the only accurate statement would be  _This looks like intestines_.

“Do you want to taste it?” Mingyu asks, with a tint of cautious optimism.

Jihoon looks down at the pan, and up at Mingyu, and back at the pan, and back at Mingyu. Mingyu is smiling at him, a tentative kind of smile, and he’s clearly offering Jihoon first because it’s _his_ approval he’s seeking, and really, really, that's so sweet.

It's just that if Jihoon had known breakfast would entail eggs that had peaches and are somehow both runny and burnt at once, he might have hesitated to push for the privilege.

But then Mingyu’s giving him the puppy eyes that he’s clearly inherited from Seungcheol, and Jihoon really can’t see another way out of this.

Jihoon swallows. “Sure.”  He says, picking up a clean spoon and cautiously drags out a chunk of ‘breakfast’ that isn't black on at least one side. He pokes at it tentatively. It… _jiggles_.

Then he throws Seungcheol a look. Like he is, in some way, a horrible traitorous father if he doesn't have some of Mingyu's clearly delicious breakfast creation.

Seungcheol raises his eyebrows in a challenging look that perhaps suggests, _‘Mingyu is not a child and definitely not his son and his feelings will probably be hurt less if he refuses, than if he eats some and dies a horrible death.’_

Seungcheol’s eyebrows are very expressive.

Jihoon scrunches his mouth and tuts, wordlessly suggesting that if Seungcheol doesn’t taste it and suffer alongside him, he won’t be pleased and might deny him sexual privileges.

Seungcheol's face seems to disagree with using sex as blackmail, but is keeping the rest of its opinion to itself, possibly to avoid sleeping on the couch - if they had a couch, if they weren’t camping in the woods that is.

And Jihoon is just going to leave that whole thing alone now.

Seungcheol surrenders eventually and decides on the same tactic as Jihoon, scraping his spoon through the mixture as well.

Trying valiantly not to cower in fear, the both take a bite.

Oh. Oh. Oh. It is the  _worst_. It is the worst thing ever. The peach. The sausage. The beans.

The jiggling does not actually cease once it is in his mouth. Vaguely, through the cloud of unending horror that is descending rapidly over his gastrointestinal system, Jihoon thinks he can taste cinnamon.

Where the fuck did Mingyu even get cinnamon in the middle of the woods? Oh god, the world is ending in chaos and despair, oh, why,  _why_ \--

"Good?" Mingyu asks.

"Mmmm," Seungcheol manages. "Fantastic." He says, looking at Jihoon like one would look at their nearest and dearest—on their death bed.

"Yes, amazing Mingyu," Jihoon says politely, and makes sure Mingyu doesn't see him gag at the aftertaste.

Mingyu smiles brightly, and then cautiously offers the pan in Wonwoo's direction.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, sighs expansively and with a great show of reluctance drags a spoon through the mixture as well.

"It _probably_  won't kill me," he mutters under his breath.

Which, for some bizarre reason seems to make Mingyu happy.

Wonwoo grimaces at the taste, but smiles up at Mingyu when he looks over. “ _Wow_.” He drawls.

"Is breakfast ready?" Vernon says, coming back from his trip to the toilet. Out of Mingyu's line of vision, Wonwoo waves his arms and mouths  _Run, save yourself_.

Vernon's eyes widen.

"Yep, help yourself buddy." Mingyu says, offering up the pan.

"I am…allergic," Vernon says, and Jihoon curses his obviously inferior brain for not having come up with that excuse himself. "To, uh, some things. Excuse me?"

He beats a hasty retreat, and Mingyu narrows his eyes briefly in confusion and then shrugs. "Well, here, I guess that means more for the rest of you guys."

Everyone groans “ _Eughhhhh_ —“, which they amend quickly into an over-elaborate cheer “— _hhggHAAAYYY_!”

Mingyu doesn't even seem phased that everyone refuses seconds and he’s left to finish off the remains of the dubious breakfast.

* * *

 Finding the van is considerably easier with daylight than it had been in the dark. Seungcheol insisted on abandoning their supplies at the campsite because he was adamant they would not need them again and he didn’t want the equipment ‘weighing them down’.

Jihoon secretly suspects it’s because he doesn’t want to be reminded of their disastrous camping adventure, and there’s also the strong possibility they’ll try and leave the forest and find themselves right back at the campsite anyway.

Fortunately, that doesn’t happen and for once he is grateful to see the inside of that van.

They scrape the mud off their boots and all file into the back of the van, then sit there silently for ten minutes before they realise— _the van isn’t moving._

Possibly because—they’ve all filed into the back of the van and nobody is sitting upfront.

Jihoon rolls his eyes hard enough to make his nose flex. Ridiculous. “One of you has to drive—we can’t all just sit in the back and expect the van to drive itself.”

“Oh—I guess It’s my turn to drive.” Vernon says after they all exchange confused glances. “Where are the keys?”

There is a pointed moment of silence.

“Oh— _fuck_. Please tell me one of you has the keys?” Seungcheol asks, sounding vaguely hopeful but quite obviously expecting the answer to be no.

“Yeah I do. Don’t worry boss. I kept them safe.” Mingyu says, winking in assurance.

Seungcheol heaves a sigh of relief. “Good. Where are they then?”

“They’re tucked safely under my pillow. In the tent.” He explains, like that’s not especially inconvenient for everyone.

Jihoon knows, in that oblique way you know things when it's too late to do a fucking thing about them—that he shouldn't have left Mingyu in charge of the keys.

Leaving Mingyu in charge of the keys is like leaving a dog in charge of…no, you know what—no—leaving Mingyu in charge of the keys is like  _leaving Mingyu in charge of the fucking keys_ , there's really nothing else to do it justice. 

“So, you’re saying—they keys are back at the campsite?” Seungcheol asks, voice dangerously low.

“Uhh—yeah, I guess.” Mingyu laughs.

Seungcheol looks some strange mixture of confused and tired. Then mostly tired and furious. Jihoon knows how he feels, spending long enough with these guys and your opinion of humanity can't help but go down a little.

Mingyu may be stupid, but he probably doesn’t deserve to die for leaving the keys at the campsite, even if Seungcheol seems to think so.

There’s a brief struggle where the van almost tips on its side, and both Vernon and Jihoon have to use their bodies as human shields to stop Seungcheol from choking Mingyu to death.

* * *

When Mingyu returns from his expedition to fetch the keys, Seungcheol has had enough time to calm down from his murderous rage and permits him entry into the van—although he looks like he’d very much enjoy leaving Mingyu behind.

Vernon takes the keys and starts the engine and they all climb in.

Jihoon pats Mingyu consolingly on the chest as he sits next to him, but when he withdraws his hand he grimaces at the sticky white residue that has transferred. He rubs his fingers together and then regrets it because it's slimy and horrible and—oh god….

“Mingyu—what the hell is that on your shirt? Please tell me it isn’t want I think it is.” Jihoon groans, wiping the substance on his jeans.

Mingyu looks down at his t-shirt, thumbs the stain and then— _tastes_ it. “Hmm—It’s mayonnaise.”

“Oh, good—but still gross. Don’t you have any clean clothes?” Jihoon asks.

“No, I only packed for three days and I’ve already worn my boxers on all four sides.”

“Can’t you-“ Jihoon has to pause there to work out the logistics of how one can wear the same pair of underwear _four different ways,_ before continuing. “Can’t you wash your clothes? Every motel we’ve stayed at has had a laundromat close by.”

Mingyu scratches he back of his head sheepishly. “I—uhm—don’t know how to use a washing machine.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Seriously? I’m sure Wonwoo could have shown you.” He says, but a look in Wonwoo’s direction reveals that he’s equally confused about how to operate a washing machine as well.

Jihoon doesn’t know which one of them to stare at harder. “Seriously? You don’t know how to wash your own clothes? What about you Vernon?” He asks hopefully.

He watches Vernon shake his head in the rear-view mirror. “I just buy new clothes, it’s easier that way.” He shouts from the front of the van.

“Seungcheol?” Jihoon prompts.

Seungcheol tips his head and looks at him with narrowed eyes, like it’s a stupid question. “Don’t worry babe—I’m not stupid. I know how to wash my clothes.”

“Then why didn’t you teach these losers?”

Seungcheol’s face is trying to be apologetic but it's not trying very hard. He leans closer to answer. “Because I don’t know how to separate the colours, I kinda just—throw them in and say a prayer.” He says, low enough that only Jihoon can hear.

Jihoon hopes that his eyebrows of disbelief can properly convey his thoughts on that.

“That’s it! The minute we arrive at the next rest location, I want each and every one of you to give me your loads!” Jihoon announces and the van falls into a strange silence.

“I want all your loads. _Every single load_. Gimme your loads! Do you hear what I said? All the loads—in my hands.” He declares.

Mingyu and Wonwoo exchange frantic, horrified looks with each other for a few brief seconds. In the rear-view mirror, Vernon is wearing a constipated face that says he doesn't want to upset people by saying the wrong thing. There's a little embarrassment in there too, and maybe a touch of mental scarring.

Seungcheol’s brows have drawn down, like he's having complicated emotions he doesn't like. 

Jihoon replays those last few sentences back, and realises how asking for everyone to deposit their loads in his hands can be misinterpreted in an amazingly bad way.

Hurray for Jihoon officially making things more awkward.

“Fuck sake! I meant laundry! Give me your _washing_ loads!” Jihoon clarifies furiously.

Everyone looks a lot more relieved.

“What did you think I was asking for?” Jihoon waves a hand in a frustrated confused gesture, “Some—weird bukkake road trip where you all take turns jizzing in my hands?”

The answer seems to be yes because Seungcheol cocks his head to the side and pulls the face. The one that says _'dude, it sounds like that's exactly what you asked.'_

Jihoon gets the feeling it's going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) So hard to revisit a story when it's been on hiatus (unintentionally) for three months. This is really why I should finish a story once I start it and stop writing new fics XD  
> 2) Mingyu is a bad cook here, but this is purely a crack fic.  
> 3) Thank you for reading!


	11. Closing account

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jihoon faces a new threat and has important decisions to make....

They next town they arrive in is so small (population 500) Jihoon is surprised that they even _have_ a laundromat, but Google Maps finds one tucked in a lonely street.

It’s open 24/7, so they have all day to do laundry—but Jihoon’s intent on putting them all to work immediately.

When they start piling out of the van and making a run for it, he raises his hand to stop them.

“And where do you think you’re all going?” Jihoon asks.

They all freeze on the spot.

“Huh?” Seungcheol blinks, flustered and genuinely confused while the three idiots put on their friendly innocent expressions.

“To have some fun?” Vernon offers tentatively.

Jihoon shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I wasn’t kidding earlier guys. We’re all going to the laundromat, and we’re _all_ going to learn how to wash our clothes.”

Their faces fall.

“But—but…” Wonwoo stammers.

“No buts young man—” Jihoon says, crossing his arms and trying to look stern. It seems to be having less and less effect on Wonwoo, quite possibly because he’s _older_ than Jihoon? It’s having less of an effect on all of them, if he’s being honest.

“You’re all grown men, and you need to learn how to do your laundry.” He scolds.

Seungcheol lifts his hand up, like he’s asking a question in class. “May I please be excused Jihoon, so that I can go arrange a hotel for the night?”

Jihoon looks fondly at the sun. “Yes, yes you may.”

* * *

 

The three idiots don’t get a hall pass like Seungcheol; Jihoon forces them to follow him to the laundromat, lugging their laundry bags behind them.

As they walk down the pavement, they come across a small puppy yipping outside a café.

“Oh wow. Look a puppy.” Mingyu says, stopping to reach down and pet it.

“Yes, yes. Very cute.” Jihoon acknowledges as he drags Seungcheol’s laundry bag towards the laundromat. “The puppy will still be here for you to play with when we finish.” He assures.

Although that’s a lie. The puppy most likely will be gone when they are finished.

Puppies don’t just stand in the same place all day.

Puppies are excitable, unpredictable creatures with short attention spans and a sneaky ability of getting into trouble.

In fact, when Jihoon turns around to scold Mingyu to keep up, the puppy has indeed vanished.

And, so has Mingyu.

“Where the hell did he go?” Jihoon asks, searching for Mingyu who has magically disappeared from sight, leaving his laundry bag discarded in the middle of the pavement.

“Probably chasing after the puppy.” Vernon says with a shrug.

Wonwoo makes a noise like Mingyu has just displayed a level of unexpected genius.

Jihoon gets the distinct feeling he's just been outwitted. **By Mingyu.**

Which stings furiously.

“Wonwoo—will you grab Mingyu’s laundry bag please.” Jihoon orders.

Wonwoo huffs, but complies, trudging back over to Mingyu’s bag and picking it up. With both hands now full, Wonwoo can’t push his glasses back up his face when they begin to slide down his nose. Inevitably, they fall off and break.

“Aww—crap. That was my back up pair.” Wonwoo whines, holding up his frames with the popped out lens.

Jihoon sighs. “The convenience store across the road should have some lens repair kits. Go buy one.” He orders.

And Wonwoo skips off, leaving two full laundry bags in his wake.

Jihoon grabs one and instructs Vernon to take the other.

They continue down the path towards the laundromat, Vernon trailing behind, until he too stops.

“Oh wow, look another puppy.” Vernon says kneeling down.

Jihoon levels him an exasperated look. “Vernon, that’s a hedgehog.”

Vernon doesn’t seem to care. “Rightly so. Nevertheless—I shall pet it.”

Jihoon works his way through frown number twenty-seven of the day.

“You’re just trying to get out of doing laundry—aren’t you?” He says in a voice he's fairly sure could cut through glass, given the need...and some glass.

“I would never!” Vernon says, as if the very suggestion is an affront to his dignity.

Vernon does try and pet the hedgehog, which is having none of it, and curls up defensively into a ball.

Jihoon heaves a deliberate, put-upon sigh “Vernon—stop. Just—go. Get out of here.” He cedes, shaking his head as Vernon skips merrily away to freedom.

Now it’s just him, hefting four loads of washing to the laundromat.

Typical.

* * *

 

There's no one else in the laundromat once the owner ducks out for a sandwich. So, it’s just Jihoon alone with his own thoughts and the gentle hum of the tumble dryers.

It's nice, really. Until Jihoon starts digging everyone’s dirty clothes out of the bags and piling them into the washing machines.

Laundry duty for four grown, sweaty men is not a fun time.

Some of the stains on the clothing are very unsettling. Hell, some of the clothing choices are unsettling too. Especially Wonwoo’s, who laundry bag consists of nothing but a few black t-shirts and 25 black thongs.

Jihoon thinks they need to have a talk. He needs to take Wonwoo shopping and convince him to invest in more inspiring underwear colours.

Once all the clothes are separated by colour and piled in, Jihoon adds the detergent and fabric conditioner.  

He’s busy fishing in his pockets for the roll of quarters Seungcheol gave him, when a hand settles on his shoulder and a voice whispers in his ear.

“Well hello again.”

Jihoon stops himself from flailing and swearing out loud only by the slimmest of margins.

He snaps his head to the side to find an oddly familiar man standing next to him.

It takes only a fraction of a second for Jihoon to make the connection and recognise the man as Soonyoung ‘The Park ranger’, from the night before.

“Uhhhh.” Jihoon says intelligently.

The man is blur-inducingly close, almost as if he's trying to peer straight into Jihoon’s laundry bags. Jihoon decides that if Soonyoung ‘The Park Ranger’ tries to rifle though his laundry, they're going to have a problem.

“Hey, remember me? It’s Soonyoung- The Park Ranger from last night. Fancy seeing you here.” He says.

There’s a dark amusement in Soonyoung’s voice that makes Jihoon wonder if Seungcheol was right to have a bad feeling about the guy.

“Oh—yeah. Hello again.” Jihoon smiles feebly against his better judgment.

When nothing happens, he turns back to his laundry, feeding the quarters into the machine.

The hairs on the back of his neck crawl but he stubbornly refuses to turn back round and see what Soonyoung's doing.

Ten seconds later it's significantly harder to ignore him, because Soonyoung's breathing down his neck like he expects Jihoon to, at any moment, violate some ‘park ranger code’.

Jihoon figures there are three explanations for Soonyoung’s sudden fascination with him.

1) He is madly in love with Jihoon and wants to take him on the washing machines.

2) Somebody back at the park complained about Jihoon flashing his genitals at them (and he apologised to that family profusely; he had just taken a piss in the bushes and hadn’t realise it overlooked their campsite)

3) He is looking to scrounge some quarters to do his _own_ laundry.

“Can I help you?” Jihoon asks finally, when the man doesn’t seem like he’s going to leave Jihoon’s personal space anytime soon.

Soonyoung’s eyes flicker from Jihoon’s face towards the door briefly. “No, just doing my laundry.” he says, not entirely convincingly.

Jihoon glances around and notes that Soonyoung is very empty handed. “Then—where is your laundry?”

Soonyoung holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender “You got me.” He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “I’m not here to do laundry. I’m here for _you_.” He says, in what he clearly thinks is  _absolutely not_  a creepy voice.

Jihoon's breath catches halfway in his throat.

His face and neck feel warm, partially from embarrassment because he’s getting hit on by a guy wearing a neckerchief, but also because he's filled with a sense of dread.

“I’m happily married with three children!” He finds himself gasping like a scandalised housewife.

Soonyoung grins. “I— _really_?” Then he frowns. “Three kids?”

Jihoon opens his mouth to say ‘Yes! That’s right!’, then shuts it promptly.

He doesn't how to explain this without sounding like he's on a Lifetime movie.

“Well—yes— _essentially_. That’s what it feels like.” he says simply. Then decides he should probably clarify. “They’re kind of adopted….and kind of three fully grown men actually. I think one of them might be older than me.” He says, which doesn’t help at all. Not in the slightest.

Now Soonyoung is leaning against the washing machine and looking at him like he's mad.

Jihoon frowns because his ability to describe things is usually more advanced than this. “It’s a long story.” He laughs sheepishly.

“Save it. I’m not here to romance you. I’m arresting you.” Soonyoung says through a grin that makes him look utterly insane.

Jihoon’s mind immediately leaps forward, adrenaline jolting him out of the pleasant haze he’s managed to sink into over the past few days. “What?”

“You’re under arrest—for bank robbery!” Soonyoung announces.

“Wh- _what_?” Jihoon says in a strangled voice.

Soonyoung takes a step closer, grabbing his arm. “I knew I recognised you from somewhere. Then last night when I got back to my cabin, I remembered seeing your face on the news. You’re the bank manager that did the inside job!” he says, waving his finger.

“No—no.” Jihoon stutters.

“Yeah—Lee Jihoon. Your face is plastered all over the news and I’m going to be the one to drag you to justice.”

“What! No! You’re not even a cop—you’re just a park ranger! That’s like—out of your jurisdiction or something.” Jihoon protests, then Soonyoung dangles a pair of metal handcuffs. 

He blanches and Soonyoung shrugs. “Consider it a citizens arrest.”

Jihoon scowls.

He’s damned if he's going to go willingly, or quietly.

He distracts Soonyoung by pitching a box of detergent at his head. He kicks and flails as Soonyoung tries to restrain him. He succeeds in knocking the air out of Soonyoung’s lungs with a well-placed kick to the stomach.

Jihoon shoves Soonyoung aside and launches himself over a bank of machines, sprinting for the exit.

He’s _just_ out the door— _just_ catches sight of Wonwoo walking across the road—when a second man tackles him to the ground.

“Help!”

Then there’s somebody holding his arms down, and he can hear Wonwoo’s yell of protest from across the way, and the terrifying sound of answering gunfire.

Jihoon cracks one of the men with his forehead, not caring about the faint ringing sound in his ears. He’s an inch away from getting his hand on a holstered gun when he gets a face full of something sweet and sharp soaked into a white cloth.

He feels everything spin, his arms yanked back and secured, a cloth bag pulled over his head.

“Shit, we’ve got a witness!” somebody snarls, accent heavy.

“We don’t have time for that! Just get him in the car!”

Jihoon is lifted onto someone’s shoulder, the floor bobbing nauseatingly beneath him before he gives up trying to concentrate.

* * *

 

Jihoon does not pass out.

At least, he doesn’t  _think_  he does. He doesn't remember coming to, at any rate.

He just knows he hates consciousness with a passion. He can feel every single one of his bruises and there is not one position that makes all of them happy at the same time.

He’s not sure where he’s been taken, but it involves a bumpy car journey and when he can stand on his own two feet, a short walk with rocks and twigs crunching underfoot.

Just as his legs are about to give out, he’s brought to a stop and pushed down on his knees.

There’s a hush and Jihoon catches voices murmuring and the sound of a river flowing nearby.

The rough, hessian bag is ripped away from Jihoon’s face, making him wince as it scrapes over his nose and catches on his ears.  The direct sunlight is a sudden attack on his retinas, so bright Jihoon has to shield his face until his eyes finally adjust to take in the view. When he blinks to clear his vision, he finds himself back in the middle of the forest.

There are four men standing over him. From their matching attire, they all appear to be Park Rangers. There is:

 **Soonyoung The Park Ranger:** Who he’s sort of familiar with at this point and would happily testify that the guy is a complete twat.

 **Silent Bob:** A tall, stringy looking bloke with a narrow face. He doesn’t speak as much as the others, and stands completely expressionless. He’s flicking the safety on his handgun back and forth at a rate that shows he is very familiar with the action. Probably the one to look out for.

 **Sunglasses:** This one tall and blonde, and is wearing a pair of Sunglasses on his face, as well as a pair perched on top of his head….and another tucked into his shirt collar. Perhaps he’s some kind of sunglasses sales rep? Or perhaps just a _moron?_

 **Shouldn’t you be in school?:** The fourth park ranger is a fresh faced young man and clearly the youngest in the group with a fuckin dinosaur print on his neckerchief. What the hell? He has a nervous look about him, sweating slightly, like he regrets the whole thing already.

The men are standing around and whispering in hushed voices, sparing Jihoon a glance every now and then. Two of them are armed with medium range handguns, the others have a taser and a machete between them.

There's clearly going to be some interrogation to go along with his captivity.

Soonyoung said he was making a citizens arrest, but why drag Jihoon out here in the middle of the forest, miles away from the nearest police station?

Did Wonwoo get a good look at them when they were taking Jihoon down? Maybe? Maybe he’ll go find Seungcheol, and Seungcheol will come and rescue him like he did back at the bar brawl. Granted, this is an entirely different situation with more risks, but— _still_.

Jihoon decides that assuming Seungcheol has no idea he’s been kidnapped is a much more cheerful prospect than assuming Seungcheol knows and doesn’t give a shit, so he's very sorry but he's going to believe that until someone tells him otherwise thank you very much.

He supposes by now it doesn't matter.

Even if Seungcheol does know, Jihoon’s in a really bad position, he realizes. Being kidnapped and tied by four strange men with questionable morals, forced into the back of a car and driven god knows where.

Wait. _Why does this sound familiar?_

Oh yeah—that’s because it happens _all the fucking time._

That’s twice in the space of a week, which makes Jihoon feel twice damned; cosmically fucked no matter what he does.

Getting kidnapped is nothing new to Jihoon. It’d stopped bothering him after a while and he’d started treating it like an inconvenient vacation. Throughout his life he’d been kidnapped loads of times by lots of different people, some of his closest friends even, and he’d accepted there is no use twisting himself up about it.

But this time it’s different somehow. Seungcheol has kind of set the bar with kidnapping him; he went out of his way to make sure Jihoon was comfortable and cared for, made it special and meaningful in a way that kidnapping perhaps should not be.

Now Jihoon’s effectively been kidnapped _from_ his kidnappers (kidnapping squared?), and he doesn’t think these guys can best his previous kidnapping experiences. No chance.

For one, they’re all dressed in forest green uniform shorts, and it doesn’t matter how hard your glare is—shorts are not menacing. And secondly, none of them have the ass and thighs combo to top Seungcheol’s, which is just—disappointing on so many levels. There is really nothing great about this kidnapping—at all.

“What the fuck is going on?” Jihoon asks eventually, eyes darting over his captors.

They all stop bickering and turn to evaluate him coolly.

Three men come around to the front, skirting him widely, guns trained at his heart and head. So far they seem moderately competent. Jihoon hates those kind of people. He secretly hated it when people actually knew what they were doing. Life was so much simpler, albeit slightly less predictable, when he was dealing with amateurs.

“How rude of us to keep you waiting.” Sunglasses says, pushing back the glasses off his face so now there are _two_ pairs perched on his head. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Jun—this here is Minghao and this is Dino. And you’ve already met Soonyoung.”

“Should we _be_ introducing ourselves?” Dino asks quietly.

Jun laughs nervously. “Uhh— _whoops_.”

Minghao slides Jun an insolent look, which Jun doesn't return.

“What the hell are you guys supposed to be? The _‘Park Rangers Patrol Pals’_?” Jihoon says, all lazy mockery and boredom. He manages to sound thoroughly unimpressed with all of them.

“Uhm—yeah. That’s exactly who we are.” Soonyoung says proudly, and the grin he flashes at Jihoon is almost sociopathic in nature.

Jihoon opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get a word out, Minghao takes over the conversation. “You sure it’s him? He doesn’t strike me as a brilliant heist mind.”

“And he looks different than in the photo.” _Why are you not in School_ -Dino says.

“It’s an old photograph, and the suit he’s wearing in it adds years to him, but it’s him alright.” Soonyoung says, pulling out a black and white printout of Jihoon’s employee photo that’s been circulating in the news.

“Police are looking for former employee and Bank Manager of CitiBank incorporated Lee Jihoon; he is described as a petite Korean male, approximately 115 pounds and 5ft5. Lee Jihoon was the fifth member of a crew that held up a CitiBank branch in Busan on Monday 12th May at 12:02. Four men in suits and black masks entered the bank with black semi-automatic guns and locked the bank down. Lee Jihoon, who was already working on the inside began assisting them. The five men fled the scene in an unmarked vehicle with a tinted licence plate cover and an estimated twelve million dollars.” He says, reading out the BOLO.

“Twelve— _twelve million dollars?”_ Dino repeats, choking on the numbers.

Jun whistles appreciatively. “That makes him a fucking criminal mastermind.”

Jihoon snorts. “Criminal mastermind is a _huge_ exaggeration. I did not steal a damn thing. The most you could accuse me for is doing their laundry.”

Soonyoung lifts a shoulder in an approximation of a shrug “Aiding and abetting then, still a criminal offence.”

“I DIDN’T STEAL ANYTHING!” Jihoon snarls.

Jihoon can't help but wonder if it's going to be another one of the things - the many, many things - that he's going to have to keep reminding people. _'I’m not a thief by the way.'_

He'd make flashcards, if he thought that would help.

“So, what now?” Dino asks.

Minghao scowls and flips his hair out of his eyes. “Now, we start searching. They must have buried it here somewhere.”

“Buried what?” Jihoon asks curiously.

“The money—from the heist.” Soonyoung says, narrowing his eyes. “That’s what you and your—weirdly protective boyfriend were doing out here last night no doubt. Burying your stash.”

Jihoon doesn't have the faintest idea what to say. He can no longer form words, he's just randomly opening and closing his mouth

Jun steps forward, pointing a machete at him with a glint in his eye that promises pain and suffering. “Tell us—where did you stash the cash?”

“No, we didn’t bury anything! We were just camping!” Jihoon yells. He realises he's flailing his arms around like an idiot and makes himself stop. “I swear the cops have it all wrong! I had nothing to do with the heist.”

Minghao’s face is suspicion on top of a careful blandness, which Jihoon doesn’t like at all. “So, you admit there _was_ a heist.” He says.

Soonyoung grins and looks far too pleased with himself. Jihoon suspects he's going to have to put up with this for a while.

“Okay. Yes, there was a heist. _But I was just an observer_. I worked at the bank and got kidnapped when they accidentally revealed themselves to me. I _don’t_ have a share of the money, I _don’t_ know where they are keeping it.” He explains nonchalantly, not wanting to give away his extensive knowledge of Seungcheol’s operations.

The Park Ranger Patrol Pals all narrow their eyes in unison, then turn to Soonyoung for clarification.

Soonyoung shakes his head. “I don’t believe him. He was doing their laundry when I found him, he was _unattended_. If that _was_ true—wouldn’t he have just ran away?” He says, undaunted.

The Park Ranger Patrol Pals turn back to face Jihoon with renewed conviction.

The silence that follows is damning and Jihoon knows it. He should know the excuse to fill in there, but he can’t explain to any sane person why he didn’t try and run away when faced with the opportunity.

Jihoon swears and starts the uncomfortable, and unflattering, process of working himself upright with his hands still bound behind him. “Okay—I can explain that.”

“Yeah—yeah. Start walking—show us where you buried it.” Jun says, pushing him forwards.

And that's the beginning of the worst kidnapping of Jihoon's life, and that includes the kidnapping he had once with the man who was an avid taxidermist and who kept on talking about the immortal beauty of Jihoon's cheekbones, forcing Jihoon’s boyfriend to kill….

 _You know what_ —that’s a story for another day.

* * *

 

The search is futile—obviously. Jihoon tries to tell them as much, but they’re not listening.

They walk back and forth along the path for a several exhausting hours, searching for buried treasure Jihoon _knows_ isn’t there.

His captors take turns steering him through the forest, with a combination of careful pressure and brute force, as Jihoon suffers the indignity of ambling through the countryside without the use of his hands.

Occasionally they’ll stop to threaten him and shove him around a little, hoping rudeness will be the key to unlocking Jihoon’s memories. It isn’t.

Soon, the sun is setting beyond the horizon, a startling splash of pink between the trees, and when it becomes too dark to see without the aid of flashlights, they call it a day.

Jihoon knows he hasn’t been very useful, and expects to get shot, tasered or thrown into a crevice somewhere to die.

His kidnappers don’t seem to be finished with him yet, however, because he gets shoved to the ground and a bag is pulled over his head, before he’s dragged an unknown distance.

* * *

 

When the bag is pulled off his head a second time, Jihoon takes in his surroundings – he appears to be in a log cabin, back propped against a low bench. 

There are maps of trails and hiking equipment hung up over another bench on the far wall, a few scrappy looking arm chairs and a desk, but other than that, the room is bare. 

Jihoon listens to the men map out their plans by the desk, and takes a moment to examine himself. His sweater is crumpled and torn, smears of dirt covering his jeans and mud caked into the bottom of his boots. He moves his body bit by bit, slowly, assessing the damage. Bruises more than anything. Aches and pains from being bound, roughed up.

Methodically he begins testing out the strength of his bonds. Tight—everything is tight—and he only wishes he’d been awake when they tied him because he could’ve made sure there was some play in the line, some room to manoeuvre, but this way, there is little chance he is getting out of this unless somebody leaves something sharp nearby.

For now, he’ll just have to wait and see.

The Park Ranger Patrol Pals seem to have reached some kind of consensus, because they pack away their map and push the desk against the wall.

Minghao takes a seat near the window, gun settled on his lap; Dino positions himself on the bench near the back door and Soonyoung starts the fire in the cabin, impressing everyone with his how-to boy scout skills.

“We’ll stay here tonight, then start searching again first thing tomorrow.” Jun announces, throwing himself into one of the chairs.

Jihoon groans. “How many times do I have to tell you idiots—there is no money buried in the woods!”

Jun looks at him from underneath the tips of his sunglasses. Jihoon's not even questioning why he's wearing sunglasses indoors. And at night. He probably thinks it looks cool or something.

“You should get some sleep—you’ll have a lot of searching to do in the morning.” Jun says.

Jihoon finds a totally uncomfortable position on the ground, and then suffers in it.

He’s tired, but refuses to sleep, not just because there isn't a chance in hell of him leaving himself defenceless when he doesn't know who's watching. He thinks he should be attempting to escape but there's a boot shaped imprint on his chest that continues to punish him even when he's not moving, or breathing.

Still, he feels like a complete failure for not even trying.

“We should take turns to watch the him.” Silent Minghao suggests.

“He’s tied up—he’s not going anywhere.” Jun pipes up, twirling a toothpick around his fingers.

“That’s what he _wants_ us to think. He’s probably trained to pick locks. The minute we turn our backs and fall asleep, he’ll be out of those ropes and strangling us to death.” Minghao says, an annoyed smile pasted on his face. It’s patently fake, and more of a sneer than anything else. Like he doesn't know _how_ to smile, but someone had told him he should try anyway.

“I’ll watch him first.” Minghao says. He manages to make that sentence sound threatening, in a way that isn't comforting at all.

“No, no—that’s fine. I’ll do it.” Jun interjects with frantic hand gestures that seem to be attempting to convey leaving Jihoon alone with Minghao will lead to some sort of surprising and swiftly gruesome death.

“This is pointless.” Jihoon snaps, sitting up and suppressing a wince. “What’s your plan when you don’t find any money? Why don’t you just hand me in so I can clear my name and let the police find the money.”

Minghao cocks his head to the side, scrutinising Jihoon as if he were a particularly annoying puzzle to be solved, “Who said anything about handing you in?”

Jihoon flounders for a few blinks. “Soonyoung said he was making a citizens arrest…”

Jun and Minghao laugh outrageously. Soonyoung looks awkward and apologetic, deliberately avoiding eye contact with him. Dino is looking predictably ashamed of himself. What a rookie.

Jihoon’s brow furrows and his mouth purses into a pensive frown as he tries to suss out any clues he might have missed. He’s quiet a few beats before speaking:

“You guys just want the money for yourselves.” He says carefully, because he finally knows where this is going. “You all should be ashamed of yourselves. Putting in none of the hard graft but trying to get all the rewards—trying to steal somebody else’s stolen money! That’s just _shocking_.”

“Hey—we’re entitled to a reward for catching a mastermind criminal like you. And we got bills to pay. Do you know how much a park ranger earns? Not much!” Soonyoung provides as an explanation, or possibly as an excuse.

“I have a thought.” Jun starts.

“Sound the trumpets!” Minghao says dryly.

Jun frowns. “Oh—shut up. Fine, I won’t tell you my big plan then.” He grumbles.

Suddenly, something comes flying through the window, shattering glass everywhere. Somebody fires their weapon reflexively and the noise shocks Jihoon into stillness for a second; he can't quite  _focus_. It passes quickly, and Jihoon realizes he isn't hit.

But there is a large stone in the middle of the cabin, with a white crumpled piece of paper wrapped around it. They all stare at it for a minute, before Soonyoung slides out of his seat and crawls over to it.

“Cover the door.” Minghao hisses, cocking his rifle.

Soonyoung grabs the rock, unfolding the piece of paper attached.

_‘Give me back my wife…’_ He says, reading the note out loud.

“What does that even mean?” Minghao asks, just as another large stone flies through the adjacent window. It too has a note attached.

Jun picks up the second stone, unwinds the note and reads it out. _‘I meant Jihoon. Give me back my Jihoonie!’_

 _“Well, well, well_ —Isn’t that _sweet_.” Jun drawls. He raises an eyebrow and stares past Minghao and Soonyoung at Jihoon. “Seems like somebody has their very own Knight in shining armour, _hmm_?”

“And what should we call your boyfriend? He is your boyfriend, right?” Jun says, through a leer that Jihoon suspects is never going to leave his face. Jihoon glares at him in that special way he has, and he shuts his mouth. He doesn't stop leering though.

“As if I would share a scrap of info with any of you losers.” Jihoon says firmly. Which he thinks conveys just the right amount of irritation without outright refuting the statement.

Five seconds later, another stone is lobbed through the opposite window. Also with a note.

_‘We want Jihoon back too. Love Vernon. V.’_ Dino reads.

Jihoon can’t facepalm because his hands are bound, but he contemplates braining himself against the table.

Then, another brick flies through the window and narrowly avoids braining him.

_‘We miss you Jihoon! Love. V+ M+ W’_ —"They even drew a picture.” Jun says bemusedly.

Soonyoung pulls the cabin door open to shout into the night and wave his fist angrily, “STOP THROWING BRICKS THROUGH MY WINDOWS! MY EXPENSES ARE THROUGH THE ROOF AS IT IS!”

The sound of a shot tears through the air and the wood next to Soonyoung’s head splinters suddenly.

Soonyoung yelps and ducks for cover.

“Oh shit, oh shit! It’s him! It’s him!” Soonyoung whimpers, crawling under the desk.

“Who?” Minghao asks, and the next minute the air is alive with bullets.

The Park Ranger Patrol Wimps duck for cover.

“GIVE ME BACK MY SWEETPEA!” A roaring voice cuts through the darkness, and Jihoon doesn't even have to think to know whose voice it is.

It’s Seungcheol, _angry_ Seungcheol. Possibly, _angry—sexy_ Seungcheol, whose come to rescue him.

Jihoon tries not to let surprise show on this face. He doesn't know if any of this makes sense, or if it’s just his concussion making him imagine things, but he feels a prickling sensation start from the tips of his fingers and spread outwards. It feels like happiness.

“Cheol!” Jihoon gasps. Should he have said that out loud, or was that giving too much away?

“ _Sweetpea_?” Jun questions with an amused squint.

“I MEAN JIHOON!” Seungcheol corrects, “GIVE HIM BACK! HE WAS MY HOSTAGE FIRST!”

Jihoon is too busy grinning with relief to be offended. He should probably be offended a little. 

“WELL HE’S OUR HOSTAGE NOW!” Jun shouts back.

Jihoon fights the urge to make a rude noise. Doesn’t he get a say in the matter?

“DON’T YOU DARE LAY A FINGER ON HIM!” Seungcheol hollers.

Jun mourns the loss of a pair of sunglasses he’d accidentally stepped on as he ducked for cover. “TOO LATE! I LAID ALL MY FINGERS ON HIM! WE ALL DID! I’M TOUCHING HIM NOW—WITH MY HANDS!” Jun taunts.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL ALL OF YOU!” Seungcheol rages, firing his gun wildly at the cabin.

“Oh dear.” Dino sobs, looking increasingly anxious. “We shouldn’t have done this. I can’t believe I let you guys talk me into this.”

“He’s right. This shit is too intense.” Soonyoung concedes and even he is wearing his 'quietly calm, but also clearly disturbed' face. Though granted he is holding in the 'really worried' eyebrows, possibly in the hope that...Seungcheol would stop firing randomly into the forest sometime soon.

“How about we just call the police and make something up? Tell them we were trying to help—they’ll buy it.” Dino suggests, grabbing the phone of the hook and bringing it to his ear. Not a second later he slams it back into the receiver. “—they’ve cut the phone line!”

“Of course they have!” Soonyoung gasps. “They’re fucking professionals!”

Jihoon holds back a snort.

“Let not panic just yet! Junhui, how many of them can you see?” Minghao says, crouching by the window.

Jun peers out into the night. “It’s too dark to tell—but those stones came from different directions, so there’s more than one.”

“Let’s send these assholes a message.” Minghao says, lifting his gun and pointing it at Jihoon’s thigh.  Jihoon tenses in anticipation, breaths speeding up into a frenzy, feeling a scream beginning to plug up his throat.

“Wait, Jesus Christ, Ming!” Jun snaps, rushing in and shoving the gun away so that it points at the floor instead of Jihoon. 

Minghao snarls—seriously, does the guy have any other expression? But he withdraws his aim, which Jihoon considers good _progress_.

“You can’t shoot him, he might die; even from a wound to the leg, you never know, and then where would we be? That guy outside is pissed off enough that we just kidnapped him—what will he do if we hand Jihoon back with bullet holes?”

Minghao sighs, like he thinks everyone else is an idiot, but is forced to bow to public opinion, for now. “Well, we need to do something. We’re sitting ducks here.” He says, his voice gentler, sounding like he maybe regrets going to such lengths.

“I’m thinking okay, just let me think!” Jun snaps back.

There's a long pause while Jun thinks. Too long apparently, because Seungcheol gets impatient and starts firing his gun again.

Jihoon’s half worried Seungcheol’s going to use up all his fucking bullets at this rate and have to rescue him with his glare, or thighs or something.

“GIVE ME MY JIHOONIE BACK, OR ELSE!” Seungcheol yells, punctuating each word with more gunfire.

“OR ELSE WHAT?” Jun shouts back, clearly stalling for time.

There’s no reply for a long, tense couple of minutes. Then:

“OR ELSE I’LL SET THIS WHOLE FUCKING FOREST ON FIRE!” Seungcheol roars.

Quiet gasps go out all over the room. Jun’s glasses fall off his face; Dino might have wet his pants; Soonyoung looks briefly traumatized that the forest will suffer for his misdeeds.

Minghao however, appears sceptical. “He’s bluffing. He wouldn’t risk it.” His tone is dry as paper.

“He would too! You don’t know him.” Jihoon snaps. The irony, which is not lost on Jihoon, is that he doesn't really know Seungcheol either.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jun nods quietly, before shouting out. “YOU WOULDN’T DO THAT—THIS IS A NATURE RESERVE. THINK OF THE ANIMALS! HUNDREDS OF ENDANGERED SPECIES RESIDE IN THIS FOREST! IT’S OUR DUTY TO PROTECT THEM FROM EXTINCTI-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Seungcheol hollers back.

Minghao sighs and rolls his eyes. “I meant, he wouldn’t do that because he wouldn't risk his wife’s life. He came all the way out here to get Jihoon back, when he could have just dug up the money and left. I doubt he gives a shit about the animals.”

“I’m not his wife!” Jihoon grumbles.

Minghao assesses him slowly, like he's considering if he'd be worth shooting after all. “Wife, husband, lover— _whatever_. He clearly cares about your wellbeing.” He says, and his teeth are sharp and white in the dark.

Jihoon grits his teeth and swallows a protest, a curse.

“Tell him we’re not buying it. He wouldn’t risk Jihoon’s life, so when he’s ready to negotiate, we’re listening.” Minghao instructs.

“YOU WOULDN’T DO THAT—YOU WON’T RISK JIHOON’S LIFE.” Jun shouts at Seungcheol, in a 'get out of this one' sort of way. “SO HOW ABOUT WE NEGOTIATE HIS EXCHANGE?”

The quiet from outside is jarring after the clattering chaos of only moments ago, and Jihoon thinks Seungcheol’s cutting his loses and hightailing it out of there.

That would make sense. Why would Seungcheol hang around?

Jihoon needs to think for himself now, he needs to act fast to save his own ass.

He surveys the interior of the cabin for something—anything—he can use. It’s hard to see straight; the lights are dimmed and his hands are tied. It would be a  _lot_  easier if his ears would stop ringing and his head would stop pounding.

Minghao’s armed with a handgun by the window. Dino is at the back next to the rear door. Soonyoung and Jun near the front entrance to the cabin.

To get out, Jihoon would have to get past or incapacitate either Dino or Jun. And yeah, if one of them started shooting they were likely to fill Jihoon with bullets, but they’d also risk taking out one of their own guys.

Would they be that stupid?

_Probably yes._

And given the murderous look Minghao is giving _everyone_ , Jihoon isn't sure Minghao would mind a few getting killed by friendly fire.

The odds aren’t great, but better than waiting until these idiots figure out Seungcheol isn’t going to play ball, and Jihoon has no money to give them.

He’s going to make his move—going to jump up and rush Dino and take him by surprise, when Seungcheol’s voice sounds out again.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT IN EXCHANGE?”

Jihoon feels his jaw drop. Minghao looks triumphant. Even Dino, who’s been impersonating a lump of stone after shitting his pants earlier, looks a little smug, a little startled.

“IF YOU WANT HIM BACK—GIVE US THE MONEY FROM THE HEIST!” Jun offers.

“ _Psst,_ Junhui—threaten Jihoon’s life.” Minghao whispers.

“Oh—good idea.” Jun says, absolutely delighted. Jihoon wonders if he pulled flies wings off as a child, or if he skipped straight to setting puppies on fire. The light in his eyes is maniacal.

“GIVE US THE MONEY FROM THE HESIT, OR WE’LL KILL JIHOON!” Jun shouts out.

There’s silence from outside the cabin for a spell.

“What’s he doing?” Minghao asks.

Jun shakes his head. “Nothing—he’s just glaring at us from what I can see. Oh, wait—he’s walked off.”

* * *

 

Long moments pass where Jihoon tries to steady his breathing and his rapidly beating heart.

There’s silence from Seungcheol long enough that Jihoon is certain he’s left. For good this time.

Jihoon decides to be honest, because why the hell not.

“Guys—listen.” Jihoon starts, “I don’t like you—and you don’t like me.”

“I like you.” Dino interrupts, even though that's totally not the point.

Jihoon guffaws at him. “What? We just met.”

“Yeah, but you seem like a nice guy.” Dino offers cheerfully.

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Whatever! What I was trying to say was, you may not believe what I have to say, but I’m being 100% honest when I tell you they’re not going to give up that heist money in exchange for me.”

Soonyoung just waves his hand magnanimously. “Sure they will.”

“No, _they won’t!”_ Jihoon says with a hint of bitterness.

Everyone grows silent at that, and Jihoon swallows the lump in his throat.

“Think about it. I’m not even part of their crew, whether you chose to believe that or not, it’s true. And even if I was, _why_ would they hand over their heist money to save my ass? I’m not important. I’m not _special_. They would be beyond stupid to do that, even if they followed some crazy loyal thief code. You’re stupid for thinking it too.” He finishes miserably.

Minghao glares at him in the darkness, some combination of irritation, disbelief and insult. Or maybe that's just his natural expression. He definitely wears it a lot. “Well—for your sake, you better hope they’re just that stupid.” He says.

“Hold up!” Jun hisses, signalling for everyone to quiet down. “I see something. Somebody is coming out of the forest.”

“WE’RE READY TO EXCHANGE. BUT FIRST—I WANT TO SEE JIHOON—I WANT TO KNOW HE’S OKAY!” Seungcheol’s voice rings out.

Jihoon’s throat seizes up with emotion.

Seungcheol is still out there trying to rescue him, and something in Jihoon's spirit rallies.

“Come on—get up.” Dino instructs, giving him a helping hand to stand.

He directs Jihoon forward to stand just behind Jun who is still half-blocking the doorway defensively. Jihoon can just see over Jun’s shoulder, but without any light overhead he has to squint to see.

The forest is dense and dark except where pockets of moonlight filter down through the leaf-fringed trees, but his eyes finally make out a figure shielded in the tree line.

He squashes the immediate impulse to lash out and scream and run towards Seungcheol, when he feels a gun poking in his ribs and his courage suffers a temporary failure of existence.

“Wave at the nice man.” Jun instructs him with another poke, and Jihoon does. He doesn’t know how much Seungcheol can see, but he tries for a smile too, trying to look as reassuring as he can.

Like some kind of jungle cat, Seungcheol blends into the night and disappears. 

 _How the hell does he do that?_  Jihoon wonders. He’s never met someone so big who moved so quietly when necessary.

* * *

 

Two hours later, Jihoon restraints are removed and he's lead outside by the Park Ranger Patrol Pals.  

With the sun rising behind them, the trail is easy to find, and even easier to follow when his hands are not bound behind his back. With the thick foliage and the endless twists and turns it still takes them ages to reach the exchange point they agreed on.

As they approach, he’s relieved to see Seungcheol standing in a shadowed area in the distance.

It’s Seungcheol, but not Seungcheol as he knows him; it’s super serious sexy Seungcheol. He’s clad entirely in black, with shiny dark boots, a balaclava and a gun tucked into a holster at his waist, hands clasped behind his back and a duffel bag at his feet.

The three idiots are there too, positioned suitably behind him and prepared to take cover if things didn’t pan out.

When Seungcheol sees Jihoon, he makes a movement as if to grin that roguish grin even though Jihoon can’t see his face, but he restrains himself.

Seungcheol’s eyes dart from one park ranger to the next instead, assessing, like’s he’s memorising their faces for later, taking in their stances, their eyes, the location of every gun and knife.

“We should have worn masks too.” Dino whispers to the others.

“Yeah, you should have. Now I know what you look like.” Seungcheol answers back, voice lethal.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves shall we. We had a deal. No need for this to get violent.” Minghao says immediately, arms folded and gaze icy as he surveys Seungcheol’s face.

Seungcheol stares back stonily. “Money’s in the bag.” He says, nudging the duffel over with his boot.

Jun hands his rifle to Minghao and steps forward, lifting his hands to show that he is unarmed. He takes a step towards duffel, one after another, and Seungcheol watches him blankly as he approaches. 

Jun kneels next to the duffel and unzips it, checking the contents.

Jihoon’s first thought is that the money is fake, Seungcheol has somehow acquired a large number of fake bills and piled them into the bag. Jihoon’s worked around money most of his adult life; handled it, scrutinised it, even smelt it on occasion, and he can tell from a simple glance that the money in the duffle is most definitely real.

His second though it that Seungcheol has organised an ambush; his crew are better armed and maybe more experienced in handling a firefight than the Park Ranger Patrol Pals. Maybe not the three idiots, but Seungcheol _probably_ has enough experience to trump everyone here.

So he keeps his eyes on Seungcheol, waiting for a discreet signal, anything to tell him to duck for cover or run or brace himself for a fight, but it never comes. Seungcheol stares straight ahead the entire time as Jun rifles through to the bottom of the duffel.

“Is it all there?” Minghao asks.

“Yeah—looks like. Oh wow. Look at all that money!” Jun practically salivates.

They zip the bag up and start stepping away, pushing Jihoon towards Seungcheol as they retreat.

“Nice doing business with you fellas.” Minghao says.

“Yeah, no harm—no foul.” Jun adds with a bow.

“Please don’t set fire to the forest after we leave.” Soonyoung shouts out as they break into a run.

“Think of the animals!” Dino yells.

* * *

 

The minute they’re out of sight, Seungcheol tosses his rifle at Mingyu, whips the mask off his face and pulls Jihoon in a bear hug.

It's hard and anxious, and not a little lacking in finesse, but under the circumstances it's everything Jihoon could've hoped for. It's honest, and Jihoon knows Seungcheol was worried about him. He feels it, the same way he feels the tightness in his chest lifting, the heat that threatens to burn the whole damn forest down around them.

Jihoon buries his nose in Seungcheol’s neck, letting his familiar scent soothe his nerves.

He's afraid to move or startle the moment in any way — not even daring to breathe when Seungcheol pulls back and touches his cheek then cups the side of his neck. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m,” Jihoon tries, but no sound comes out, so he tries again. “I’m fine.”

The minute Seungcheol lets him go, he’s enveloped in another hug by the three idiots.

Jihoon has very pointed ideas about unexpected hugging. You could perhaps suggest that these were special circumstances. Though he isn't quite sure how special circumstances change the laws of hugging.

“How did—how did you trick them?” He asks them, stepping back to study their faces. “That looked like real money.”

“It _was_ real money.” Seungcheol says, and it's so plaintive Jihoon laughs. A short, quick burst of sound that passes in a heartbeat. Seungcheol is still staring at him with furrowed brows, and the look on his face is nowhere near funny.

Jihoon’s own face falls serious, and he says, “But—you didn’t—you didn’t give them _all_ your money, right? You only gave a little— _right_?” Not really sure what it's supposed to mean.

“They wanted it all, they knew how much we had.” Vernon pipes up.

Jihoon needs to breathe, needs big old gulps of air to combat the light-headedness he suddenly feels. He blinks and turns to Seungcheol for a saner answer, something that makes sense.

“But you tricked them, yeah? You’re going to ambush them later and get your money back.” Jihoon says, his voice feels raw. He looks around  anxiously at their calm faces. “What’s the plan?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “No ambush, we couldn’t risk it Jihoonie. They threatened your life and I just wanted— _we_ just wanted you back.” He says, voice even, his eyes steady on Jihoon's.

Jihoon is proud of himself. Really goddamn proud, because he makes it a whole 30 seconds into that admission before his voice cracks.

“But—but—I’m not even p-part of your c-crew.” He sobs.

Seungcheol face softens. “Of course you are, Sweetpea.” He says with warm honesty.

Jihoon’s crying now and he’s not sure why, he hasn’t cried for years, but something about these idiots who he hardly knows, who hardly know _him_ , giving up their loot to save his ass just makes him let go. 

Seungcheol chuckles fondly as he wipes the tears streaming down Jihoon’s face. “Don’t cry Jihoonie, it’s going to be okay.” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Jihoon’s brow.  

Jihoon wonders when Seungcheol had moved beside him, draping his jacket loosely around Jihoon’s shoulders. He’s talking to Jihoon in low tones, rubbing a hand along his arm. It’s surprisingly soothing. 

Jihoon moves closer until he can’t help but reach out to anchor himself by hanging onto Seungcheol’s shoulders.  His breaths are hiccupping in his throat and he feels exhausted and peaceful and sheltered.

* * *

 

The sun has barely finished rising as they drive out of the forest, leaving the sky bright but tinted along the edges with orange and pink.

They take refuge at a road-side diner, pick a booth by the window and order ten different flavours of pie.

Jihoon sits on one side of the booth next to Seungcheol, watching him debate the merits of different pie flavours with the three idiots.

Jihoon doesn’t consider himself a particularly sentimental person. He doesn’t have a teddy bear from his childhood stowed away in a closet or anything like that. He has a couple photographs in a drawer somewhere, that’s it.

But Jihoon thinks, if he could keep one thing, it would be this—a still frame of Seungcheol, threatening the three kids with a fork.

 “So, what are you guys going to do now?” Jihoon asks, unable to keep the plaintive note out of his voice.

“What do you mean?” Seungcheol asks around a mouthful of his pie. Actual pie that is. Not sexy metaphorical pie.  

“Well—you all had plans for your money. Now that it’s gone, doesn’t that change things?” Jihoon asks.

Seungcheol only shrugs, a maddeningly careless gesture, and takes another spoonful of pie.

Jihoon breathes out a sigh, and lowers his voice. “Wonwoo—what about the apartment you wanted to buy with your share?”

Wonwoo waves his hands through the air, dismissively humble as though Jihoon has just thanked him for a mint. “Who cares, I’m happy with my crummy apartment. It has character—and giant rats. They make good pets.”

Jihoon turns to Vernon next, “Vernon—you were going to pay off your student loans and buy your mum a car.”

Vernon shrugs affably. “I can get a job.” He’s quick to assure. “And my mum has legs, she can walk!”

“Mingyu—what about your brother in hospital? Didn’t you need the money to pay off hid debts to those loan sharks?”

“Don’t worry,” He starts, then his expression becomes pinched. “Oh shit, I kinda forgot about that.”

They all laugh.

Jihoon smiles, but feels sick with guilt, and knows he's seconds away from a fresh round of tears, but he doesn't want to allow himself that weakness. He hates the cathartic purge. 

“Cheol.” He murmurs, nudging Seungcheol's shoulder with his own. “What about your speedboat?”

Seungcheol’s wearing an expression of smug amusement as he scrapes the last piece of pie off his plate. “Who needs a speedboat—when I can just ride _you_.”

Jihoon thinks that deserves a huge eye-roll, but he’s kind of still nursing a migraine right now so just kicks Seungcheol under the table instead.

A softer smile crosses Seungcheol's face then, genuine and calming and warm. He leans over and presses a quick kiss to the corner of Jihoon's mouth. “Honestly I don’t care about the speedboat Jihoonie, I was going to invest the money in one of those ISA—thingy’s like you advised me to. I just want to make you happy.”

Jihoon wonders if the swooning is because of the adrenaline and mild concussion he received earlier, but he doesn’t care. That’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to him.

He flushes and dips his head. “I’m still sorry you all lost your money guys. I wish I could do something to pay you back.”

“Jihoonie, don’t be upset—it’s just money.” Seungcheol says.

When Jihoon looks at him, unconvinced, Seungcheol smiles reassuringly. “We can always steal more.”

“Can we?” Vernon pipes in, smiling brightly.

Wonwoo’s head snaps up next. “Please Hyung?”

Mingyu’s now leaning on the table, his chin tucked in his hands, puppy eyes imploring. “Just one more bank Hyung, and we won’t ask you again.”

Seungcheol holds up a finger as if he's going to shoot that down, then seems to realise that's exactly what he may, in fact, have given the impression that he is ready to do.

Jihoon almost feels sorry for him. Trapped in a cul-de-sac of his own making, with no way out.

“Come on Cheol. Be a good sport.” Jihoon pouts.

Seungcheol tries to look disapproving, but the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a fond smile. “Oh, alright. We’ll rob one more bank.” He tells them, in a disgruntled sort of way.

“Yayyyy!” The three idiots cheer.

“Just one. Only one bank!” he adds, by way of concession, and the three idiots smile is all flashing teeth and joy.

Jihoon worries about how happy a person could be without spontaneously combusting.

He digs his fingernails into the hairs at Seungcheol’s nape, and then he pulls him in for a kiss, soft and laughing, because Jihoon's never had a romance like this, dollar signs and cars going a hundred miles per hour, left behind for the promise of the next day.

“Eww—please. Guys. We’re trying to eat here.” Vernon whines, shielding his face.

Seungcheol pulls back briefly to glare across the table, but Jihoon laughs and kisses him again, stronger, more luxurious, learning each other by taste and feel.

His neck strains from the angle, but he doesn’t care because everything feels right.

It feels like coming home.

* * *

 

**EPILOGUE**

He wishes Seungcheol where with him, instead of Mingyu; or with Mingyu instead of him.

Seungcheol is better at this, more fluid, more charismatic. Jihoon remembers Seungcheol's voice in his earpiece, saying  _we don't need charisma for this - we need someone sharp, someone cold_ , and being a little offended that it was him.

But the worst part, the absolute worst part, is that for some reason he's babysitting Mingyu.

It was totally Seungcheol, wasn't it? Seungcheol has to have final say on everything. But Jihoon has to admit, he's pretty pissed that he wasn't consulted on this one. Because he would have said no, he would have vetoed the shit out of babysitting Mingyu, just on principle.

In the end, he agreed to go along with the plan anyway. In for a penny, in for a pound or whatever.

He’s apparently the type of person that can do this, who knows how to do this, is willing to do this. He's not sure if that's amazing, or terrifying, or some awful third option.

Because he's roughly two months into this weird new life, and he’s already got three grown children, a bank robbing husband, and he’s about to rob a bank with all of them in some fun family activity day out.

When the clock turns 12:00, they pull their masks down over their faces and jump out of the van, walking swiftly towards the large glass doors.

Mingyu pushes the door open, and Jihoon walks in and immediately punches the guard at his left in the face as hard as he can.

He goes down like a waterfall under the force of the punch, lands on the floor in a sprawl that says there isn't a chance he's going to be in control of his limbs again any time soon.

Jihoon thinks he's probably broken at least half of his fingers. He's surprised by how little it hurts.

He steals the guard's gun and his keys, and quickly locks the door as Mingyu fires his gun in the air.

“Everybody be cool this is a robbery!” Mingyu shouts out.

It gets a _limited_ response. Somebody farts basically.

Then Jihoon steps up and shoots the lights out above the main register.

“ANY OF YOU FUCKING PRICKS MOVE, AND I’LL EXECUTE EVERY MOTHERFUCKING LAST ONE OF YOU!”

That gets a better response. Now there’s a lot of flailed panicking and people falling to their knees and praying.

Mingyu stays by the door as Jihoon snakes between the desks, searching for the bank manager. He finds the man cowering in the corner, identifies him easily (thanks to his very helpful name badge), and drags him out into the middle of the floor.

Jihoon threatens him, calmly, coldly and quietly—just like Seungcheol taught him, and then walks him to the main bank vault.

The back doors bursts open just as the tertiary lock on the vault clicks, and Seungcheol and Vernon arrive hefting the empty duffel cases.

Neither of them say anything, but they function like clockwork emptying the vault racks. Like people who know each other and know what to expect. Like a team. A family.

"Mr Teeny weeny, a word." Seungcheol calls for him, mouth set serious while his eyes sparkle with smile.

Jihoon frowns at him under his ski mask.

He should have vetoed that name, but apparently you don’t _get_ to pick your own alias, and the other options available (Mr Very Small, Mr Gum Drop, Mr Shortcake and Mr Inch) weren’t any better.

He’s a little on edge as he approaches Seungcheol, a little cautious with so many bystanders, but then Seungcheol’s leaning in close and Jihoon can smell the sharp gunpowder scent of him and he closes his eyes briefly as Seungcheol whispers in his ear. "You’re doing amazing Sweetpea, a natural. So proud of you.”

Jihoon nods and tries not to flush and preen.

“If you're ready, then I'm ready." Seungcheol says. His voice is steel and heat and possession. It makes Jihoon feel dizzy and desperate.

"Let's go," Jihoon says.

Seungcheol tosses a smoke grenade at him, and Jihoon doesn’t have to look up to catch it neatly in one hand.

He unclips it and slides it into the main lobby, watching it billow smoke as they exit out the back.

They’re in the back of the van and Wonwoo is pulling away before the police sirens can be heard.

Seungcheol claps him on the back as he settles next to him. “Okay babe?”

Jihoon nods. “Awesome.”

He feels buoyant. He feels like there's nothing under his skin but this immense, incredible lightness.

Jihoon can't ever deny this: the adrenaline of doing something he's good at, backed by someone he can trust to hold him steady.

He smiles at Seungcheol, and Seungcheol smiles back, a wide happy smile that Jihoon  _has_  to lean into, has to kiss like it belongs to him.

He thinks he finally has this whole  _new life_ thing figured out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) That's the end of 0% APR folks. Hope you enjoyed the journey.  
> 2) Another fic finished. Man, I'm on a roll! Maybe I'll finish other fic while I'm at it....lololol...laughable that.  
> 3)Seriously though, I enjoyed writing this. It's nice to write something non-serious....although you could argue everything I write is non serious. hmmm.  
> 4) Had to make Minghao, Thughao in this. I can imagine him being terrifying.  
> 5) This last chapter was headed in a completely diff direction with another smut scene, but I am happier to have left it out now tbh. This fits better?  
> 6) Thank you for reading and below is the playlist for the fic, just music I listen to while writing and where I get inspiration from. (Yes the epilogue is pulp fiction diner scene inspired...awesome movie btw....)
> 
> PLAYLIST  
> Chapter 1: [The Mama's and The Papa's: Monday Monday.](https://youtu.be/C8HC4lQAUMs)  
> Chapter 2: [Frankie Valli and the Four Season: Can't take my eyes off you.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LcJm1pOswfM)  
> Chapter 3: [Donovan: Sunshine Superman.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KRqE3f7V3o4&list=RDKRqE3f7V3o4)  
> Chapter 4: [Simon and Garfunkel: Mrs Robinson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9C1BCAgu2I8)  
> Chapter 5: [Blue Suede: Hooked on a feeling.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NrI-UBIB8Jk)  
> Chapter 6: [The Animals: The House of the Rising Sun.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0sB3Fjw3Uvc)  
> Chapter 7: [The Rolling Stones: Paint it black.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4irXQhgMqg)  
> Chapter 8: [Elvis: Can't help falling in love.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vGJTaP6anOU)  
> Chapter 9: [Blue Oyster Cult: Don't fear the Reaper.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ClQcUyhoxTg)  
> Chapter 10: [Jefferson Airplane: White Rabbit.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WANNqr-vcx0)  
> Chapter 11: [Santa Esmerelda: Don't let me be misunderstood.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8O0y3Rg2SnI)  
> Epilogue: [Dick Dale: Miserlou](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JjaUdqAu1vs)

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Listen......I had an itch I wanted to scratch.  
> 2) Any opportunity to write about Seungcheol really.  
> 3) I promised myself this is going to be short.


End file.
